


The Devil's Guard

by lizzyciel



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF!Bedelia, BAMF!Hannibal, Bodyguard AU, Bodyguard!Hannibal, F/F, M/M, Millionaire! Will Graham, millionaire au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 34,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16938897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzyciel/pseuds/lizzyciel
Summary: Will Graham is a bored millionaire looking for a bodyguard."Among eighty or so candidates, I had handpicked you. I knew I wouldn't go wrong with my choice."---------------------------------------------------------Special thanks to Lethal-Desires from tumblr for letting me use her AU XDNote: it's kinda different from my heavy toned first Hannigram ff, enjoy!!!Ps. For any of you wondering, this is a repost of my old work, because I made a little changes in the last few chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

"Sir, I have received word about your rejection of every single security detail recommendation I gave. . . Well let me get straight to the point, why?" Jack Crawford mused. He was on the other side of the large varnished oak desk, decorated with nothing more than piles of paper, dossiers and silver fountain pens, each engraved with an alluring cursive of the owner's name.

Jack looked straight at the back of the leather seat. It was faced to overlook the vast glints of glass and metals of the city. Large neon and luminous signs, lambent against the glass panels that separates the seated man from the appealing jump of the city.

"Please Jack, were alone, Will would be fine." Will waved off, as he turned the leather upholstered seat to face the older man.  
The older man gave the younger a sincere smile as a positive gesture. Will was never the type of man to really indulge in the formalities, he liked it simple, mundane even.

"Fine, Will, what don't you like about the candidates? They are the best of the best—" The older man was about to give a litany of reasons to pick from the lot, but was abruptly cut off by his employer.

"But none of them is the one for me. I can afford all of them combined Jack, that won't be a problem, you know that. But you have to understand the limits. . . My standards." Will uttered distant and almost uncaring.

"And what standards would that be?" Jack raised a brow, a quizzical look marking his face.  
"My gut feeling." Will gave an amused smile, a glint reflecting in his eyes, reminiscent of the shimmer beyond the glass. The man rarely smiled, but if he did, it was quite a sight.

"You're. . . Gut feeling?" This statement confused the head security even more. Nothing was as resilient as Will's take on his . . . 'Gut feeling', intuition should be a proper term but the informality of the conversation plunged both of their vocabularies.

"Have you ever fished, Jack?" It was Will's turn to query, as he stood up to walk the curve to Jack.

"A few times, yes." Jack replied, with Will already before him.

"Then you know that putting bait on the hook doesn't guarantee a catch, and fishing in the day won't get you a lot of catch. But with those risks in mind you usually find the best fish in the lot. Think of this as the same situation, only the fish biting the bait isn't the fish that I've been looking for. . . So I throw it back to the river." Will elaborated as he loosened his tie, the one he hated oh so much dubbing it as 'fussy and a waste of time', but still wore it as a curtesy to his assistant Beverly, who berated him to wear it.

". . . Ok, I understand where your coming from. But rejecting them without giving a second glance is impulsive. You should at least try some of them out, you can't walk around defenceless on the street!" Jack bellowed, giving his worrisome point.

"I'm not defenceless, I have a gun and I don't walk around the street, I drive. Stop worrying, I'll be fine. If anything I don't even see the point of taking on new security details."

"That isn't a comforting thought, Will. Look, I'm responsible for your safety. You have to understand that it's my job to be worried, and getting you the best protection is a part of it. I can't alway be with you, because I'm handling other matters. . . I'm giving you a mandate, I'll give you two days to choose a bodyguard. If you don't, I will." Jack emphasised every word of the last phrase, as he threw a brand new dossier of candidates on the desk. He left the penthouse office with a strut and stood in the open elevator. Pressing in the last button for the basement level parking lot, which was forty floors down.

As soon as Jack was out of sight, Will gave a long sigh, before presuming to pop the top two buttons of his suit open. Will never liked the constricting force of a suit or his styled up hair that made him look far too professional for his liking. If he were to dress himself every morning, he'd prefer to wear baggy jeans, a pair of trainers or boots, a grey t-shirt or a checkered button up with his curly hair loose and his large glasses evading the direct glare of eye to eye contact that he hates so much. It was simple and functional.

He ran his hand through his hair, which was still slightly stiff with the gel. He slumped down to his reclining chair and half-heartedly skimmed through the piles and piles of dossiers starting from the oldest entry to the latest.

Most of the résumés were . . . Plain. The standard hand to hand combat training, gun proficiency and had at least a four to five year experience as a personal security detail. There wasn't a unique or eye catching factor about them. 

Simply speaking he didn't find them the least bit interesting to even hire. His leniency to simply not hire due to boredom was very evident enough with the number of personal staff he holds in his house. Which was none so to speak.

He likes the isolation and the comfort of privacy enough to risk his own life for it. He didn't care for the glitz and glamour of a millionaire's life style, but he did enjoy some of the luxuries it brought. The only thing he despises is the constant entail of the paparazzi. He hated the attention his amassed wealth has cursed him with.

He flipped through the last four files, immediately rejecting the one he had on hand. A prissy looking man with a condescending look on his face. He had an interesting file, with a psychiatric degree and an unfinished medical degree.

"Fredrick Chilton?" He muttered, before throwing the file to the end of the table that was filled with rejected candidates.

"Huh." He voiced as he held the only dossier that seemed to have value. It was the second to the last résumé from the latest candidate list. It was oddly thick compared to the others and held more than a few high profile names.

The candidate has a similar psychiatric degree to Chilton, except the candidate had finished his medical degree. He was a former surgeon and former psychiatrist. Proficient in more than six languages, Lithuanian, French, English, Italian and Japanese are some of the examples of his verbal fluency. He was of Lithuanian origin and was trained in more than five martial arts and was a sharp shooter. It could be said the man was over qualified for the job.

The man tickled Will's interest. It didn't help that the man had an exoticism about him. High cheek bones, blonde slicked back hair and maroon eyes.

In simple words, this one certainly got his eye.


	2. Chapter 2

"Leaving so soon?" Beverly Katz mockingly purred, as the clacking of her heels echoed through the tiles of the office.

Her slim yet curvy figure fitted in a long sleeve burgundy silk top, tucked in a tight black pencil skirt. Her black leather stiletto heels taking attention with its simple elegance. She wrapped her her arms around her, exuding a faux intimidating aura.

"You can see can't you?" Will replied, already plucking off his 24 carat cuff links an placed them in his blazer's inside pocket.

The President of the famous multinational corporation, peeled off the constricting blue tie and tossed it carelessly at the settee of his private room on the office floor. It was behind a secret panel door at the side of his office. Strategically covered by a floor to ceiling painting.

The room held a bed sitting leisurely at the middle of the room elevated by a step. A walk in closet was built in the far corner of it. It held more than fifty different sets of suits, varying in colour, design and texture.

The luxurious bathroom was parallel to the closet, it held a jacuzzi and shower separately, with Japanese technology manning all the necessary volumes of the rich. Everything was painted white or gold, making it elegant and fresh. The usual glossy grey tiles that his office had came into contrast with the Italian marble flooring that was cold to the touch.

A whole living room set and a large panel flatscreen TV that was the centre piece of the lounge. One could say this was a beautiful New York studio apartment, but it isn't. It was just the wealthy man's resting place when he does over time on work. Irked at the revelation that he spent far too many nights in the room than his own home than he cares to admit.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you have a date." Beverly joked, as Will entered his closet to change into a blue and white checkered shirt. He dusted off his jeans and wore them without a care, before focusing his attention on tying the laces of his trainers.

"Close." He responded, as he went out ruffling his hair, loosening the stiff locks of his curls. 

"Your being far too quiet about where your going, Will." She said with an interested look on her face. She followed Will, with her sharpened gaze, locking on to him. She was like a sister to Will, a very annoying and curious little sister, who was good at heart.

"And your being far too nosy to be my secretary, Beverly." He said picking up his phone, keys and wallet, shoving it in the back pocket his jeans. Beverly gave him a look, since they both know there was alway a mutual friendship between them since they met.

"Did you do as I asked?" Will added, as Beverly jiggled a set of keys pinched by her index and thumb.

"I still don't get why you like that that old rental, I mean you've got two Ferraris sitting in your garage and your settling for that? I really don't get you." She said tossing the keys to her employer, who was already on his way out.

"It's called privacy, who would say a young man driving a crumbling old truck is a millionaire?" Will said, getting the last sarcastic remark before the heading to the elevator. He gave an awkward wave goodbye, as the doors paralleled close.

Will pressed his back on the cold glass, still over looking the vast view of the city. The plunging pressure making him think. What did he want to achieve in making this outrageous plan? Certainly he was bored with the daily plunders of work life, which revolves around a stack of drafts and memos while signing off the few approved proposals.

His social life is a mess, mostly because of a tabloid writer Freddie Lounds. It was like the woman's sole reason to live was to destroy Will's reputation. The Graham family was old money, mostly they're in the European side of the world. They to expand to America making the sole heir and current president of the Graham corporation, take base at the country. Freddie specifically didn't like that fact, calling old money corrupt. It was somewhat true for any rich family, but the way she pestered and made false claims made her already horrendous claims to add to his repertoire of reclusiveness.

In Will's graceful vocabulary she was . . . "A bitch, who likes to bark and bite". Of course only Beverly and Jack heard it, but to be fairly honest, it was quite true. He still doesn't know what the red headed woman has against him, but it did make him more susceptible to threats.

His destination was alarmed by a ring, making him snap out of his trance. A dim parking lot welcomed him. A few cars aligned, all sleek and glisteningly new, except for an old ford truck by the end of the dominoesque alignment. He graced the item with a smile, unlocked it and started to drive. 

His destination was a bit farther than usual, it was hotel Cicero.  
A five star hotel that had a history dating back even before the American civil war, but of course it's been expanded, renovated and adjusted as the years go by. Handlers of the hotel changed by the generations. It was so famous in fact that it was even mentioned in the broadway musical "Chicago".

After an hour or two's drive he finally arrived. He looked out on the regal taste of the hotel's design. Touching a modern and yet french rococo design. It still maintained the original Indian white marble floors, and the swinging door that was added just before the great depression.

He entered the lobby, getting odd looks from the well dressed men and women who were lounging and waiting at there turn to speak to the front desk. 

Will waited a few minutes in the lobby just to spite the people roaming in it. Rich as he may be, he was not an entitled prick as many of the people here. They wore mocking expressions and undoubtedly are stirred by his humble appearance. Of course he didn't miss the hungry looks he was given by balding older men, which was an odd form of flattery bordering on disturbing.

Will noticed one particular woman staring at him offensively. She was old, greying and certainly looked like a high maintenance ball of pink, especially with her round figure and wrinkled face. She approached the front desk, pointing Will out before strutting off to her previous seat in the lobby. 

The front desk woman in turn called on security, who reprimanded Will to leave. 

"Boy, you better move outta here, this ain't a place for yer business." The Boston accent very strong and offensive.

"Business?" Will knew what he was talking about, but this is too hilarious of a conversation to stop. 

"Ya know what I mean. . . This is a place of finery and ya ain't part of it. So whoever yer customer is, bail 'em." 

"Are you insinuating I'm a hooker?"   
Will said a little louder than what the man anticipated. The people in the lobby became on lookers to the scene, making the man blush of pure embarrassment. 

"Ya know what, fuck ya!" The man said, as he started to drag Will out the door. 

Will brought out his phone and speedily called the manager, who stumbled out of the employees room with two words from Will.

"Im here."

The manager, David Keshner, a slivering corpulent old man in a crisp fitting suit greeted him up front. Making the odd looks from the other visitors of the hotel intensify.

"Good evening, sir I'm so sorry I couldn't assist you earlier—"Will abruptly cut off the pleasantries the old man would spout. The security stopped in his tracks as David greeted Will. 

"Thats fine David, but would you please tell this man to release me." David gave the security a stern look before Will was released.

The Bostonian man looked confused for a moment, taking in what he has to do. And opted to just drop Will right there to avoid making anymore of a scene than there was. 

"Im sorry sir, I didn't know you were a visitor." The security scurried off before David could lecture him.

"Are you done setting the 'item'?" Will cut to the chase in a whisper.

"Uhhh, yes, certainly sir." David answers, making Will thank him and wait once more for the true participant of his little boredom.

Of course to say that poor little David was nervous was an understatement. The man had this hesitant look in his eye, as well as guilt. What they were going to do, was after all illegal.


	3. Chapter 3

"I have a reservation under the name Graham." A thick accented voice said, as the woman on the front desk just stared flustered.

The man had worn a standard white shirt, black slacks and blazer. His hair slicked back with a few loose locks, cascading the front of his face. On his left hand a brown leather suit case was being held and on his wrist sat a gold rolex. The visible peek of his gem stud cufflinks peeked from the blazer. His intimidating presence and exotic looks seems to be getting quite the attention based on the amount of on lookers that openly appreciated him. 

"Right, this way sir." The woman said, grateful that she avoided stuttering in front of the sudden presence. She called for a bell boy to carry the oddly minimal baggage the man held. She than lead the figure to the penthouse of the hotel, it had a gorgeous view, city lights seemingly familiar and yet bewildering.

The figure spent many nights in this city, as well as many others all over the world. And yet it always fascinates him how in every city the bustles and glowing never seems change.

Hannibal examined the suite, his luggage already there and a bottle of Sangria sat to cool in ice. A glass already waiting for him to use.

His eyes ran through the oddities of the suite. It had ticked off the requirements of any five star hotel. The suite had multiple rooms, each designated and uniformed in design. The crystal chandelier and faint scent of lavender, powdered the suite.  
A large king size bed, settled in the middle of the room. The rococo style of the lobby reflected on the room. Beige wall paper decorated by gothic victorian designs. Burgundy floor to ceiling curtains covered the windows and door to the veranda. Paintings and flower vases filled with arrangements littered almost all flat surfaces.

"Do you need anything else, sir?" She said, batting her lashes quite excessively as an invitation for something more than friendly conversation.

Hannibal paused for a moment, taking in the view of the slightly petite woman. She was to say above average in looks, with her curvy body and small face. Her lips freshly painted with a dark toned red lipstick, a rouge brushing her cheeks. The only thing preventing Hannibal from devouring the woman was her scent, thick and unbearable. The aroma of the overpowering perfume eluded her natural scent, it was . . . Distracting.

"No, thank you." And with that the woman was half heartedly dismissed, a pout marking her red lips. He handed her a generous tip and went off disappointed. 

The door slammed indicating the lack of presence except his own. Once again his eyes skimmed through the suite, his instincts were on edge, feeling every flaw in the room. He unpacked the little items he's brought and set a laptop by the dresser, where he simply glanced at his reflection on the adjacent mirror.

Hannibal fished his phone from the back pocket of his tailored pants, and proceeded to call a familiar number.

"Send me your best, Pepper." He uttered, taking off his watch and putting it at the bedside table.

"One of those nights, handsome?" A playful voice raised from the other end of the line.

"Something like that." He said before proceeding to instruct his location to the operator.

As soon as the call ended, Hannibal roamed through the various rooms the suite provided. Patting and knocking on the flat surfaces. Before long he stood in silence, shutting his eyes.  
This heightened his sense of hearing. The echoing of sirens and the bustles of the city amplified. And then finally he found what he was looking for, to which he just brushed off.

'An amateur move' Hannibal thought, as he started to shrug off his black Armani blazer. He walked back to the master's bedroom and was about to place his jacket on the bed, when a set of knocks erupted from the door.

"It's unlocked." Hannibal uttered, bending down to lay the said jacket on the bed, he then stood up once again and faced the dresser, lightly touching his laptop, seconds from opening it and start preparations for his new assignment. But footsteps alarmed him of a figure invading his designated space.

"Hey, I believe you have called in seeking company." The voice echoed, making Hannibal snap his gaze to a young man who was standing awkwardly at the door way.

"You are not my usual." Hannibal commented, approaching the figure with ease.

"No. Then again you had asked for the best, not the usual. Had you not?" The figure retorted back, making the other quite impressed with his mustered confidence.

" 'Best', you say? Shouldn't I be the judge of that?" Hannibal gave a smirk, as the other just looked up at him, staring in his eyes. Blue meets red.

In the dim light of the bedside lamp, the eyes of the stranger had an alluring tint of ocean blue. Different, light and yet a tempest seemed to brew within them. A storm of undetermined beauty. 

"Are you to get in bed or must I wait longer to prove my claim to be true?" The young man challenged, making the other get the sense of amusement from this little banter.

Hannibal pulled the stranger to bed. Pinning the figure under him, curly locks cascaded down the figure's structured face. His eyes wide and lips parted in a state of shock.

Hannibal bent down to claim the seemingly open invitation, pressing his lips against the other. Warm meets warm, as a little moan slipped from the figures lips. Hannibal nipped the other's lips in an attempt to tease and claim, biting it enough to bleed. He licked the little drops that escaped wound, giving a smirk at his partner's quiver.

Hannibal sat up, pulling one of his partner's arm pressing the patch of skin on the other's wrist. It sent a tingling sensation to the other as Hannibal dragged his lips down his partner's arm. 

'Sensitive.' He thought, as he received a gasp as an aroused response from the other.


	4. Chapter 4

The slightest creek echoed through, creating a slight metaphorical nudge for Will to wake. But the the soft bed and silk sheets caressed his body ever so softly, that his tired body ached for more sleep.

He must admit he lacked the stamina. Almost loosing consciousness a few times before admitting defeat at the fifth round. The activity was accelerating and new, adrenaline rushing with every movement. It's been a long time since he participated in anything remotely sexual, but the experience with his latest partner was in a way euphoric.

Will slowly opened his eyes, tilting a bit from his position. His chest was pressed on the stained white sheets, with only a blanket covering his southern parts. 

Pillows were scattered and compiled around the bed, the orange accents of the sheets and pillow illuminated Will's pale skin in the morning light. Clothes were scattered on the floor in their individual lumps.

He swept his eyes around the room, taking out the missing detail in his bed. His eyes laid on the blonde figure wrapping a piece of cloth around his neck, laying it ever so softly down at each of the side of his shirt's collar.

"Good morning, Isn't it too early to be heading out?" Will said refreshed, his voice cracking at the morning dryness.

"First day on the new job, I believe I have to make an impression on my boss." The stranger said, already finished with the knot of his bowtie. The sound of silk on silk satisfying of the ears.

"You already have." Will whispered to himself, muffled by the pillow he smothered. This game of anonymity is about to end. Will already anticipating on what reaction the other would give.

" . . . I'm assuming I will be seeing you very soon." Hannibal said, a slight hint of a grin on his face. Will presumed this to be interest from the other, a slightly clouded response.

"Maybe." Will responded teasingly. It was odd, the young man could never muster enough strength to do that to anyone he fancied, and yet today bravery seemed to be with him.

"I am sure of it." Hannibal said, sliding on a dark blue cashmere coat, obviously well maintained, almost new to a point.

Hannibal uttered instructions to lock up when his partner leaves, making the other puzzled as to why the other would trust a stranger with a room filled with luxuries. People who undertake the job as 'doves of the night', are usually seen as untrustworthy people . . . So why?

"Why do you trust me with the room?" Will queried, raising from his position.

The blanket ruffled down his waist, exposed more skin than intended, but hiding enough to be alluring.

"I think you have no interest for any of my properties nor do you need it." The man said in an amused tone, avoiding the call of innocence.

Before Will could respond the man was gone. Already out the door, without muttering a goodbye.

Will echoed a long sigh, before slumping back to bed, ready to douse himself in slumber. But a ringing prevented him to do so. He reluctantly stood up, dropping the covers on the floor and moved to retrieve his cellular phone, that kept in the back pocket of his jeans, which was abruptly discarded in a pile last night. 

He looked at the identification and found it to be Beverly. Not a good sign, considering that she would most likely berate him to an abyss. That description wasn't far from all the other experience he's had with his secretary. Beverly was lax but on point and mostly professional. It was amazing that she could juggle with Will's hectic schedule an still have a blossoming social life.

"Where the hell are you?!" That was a very nice starter of the conversation.

"Umm, a hotel?" He said, a bit unsure if that was the right answer to press.

"How far?" Beverly cut to the chase.

"About an hour or two from the office." Will reluctantly uttered, receiving an un abated lengthy sigh from the other end.

". . . Look Will, it's fine if you have a great hook up, but your late! We have a meeting with the Vergers at seven! Look at the time. . ." Beverly waited, as she tapped her finger on the glass table before her.

" . . . 7:23." Will responded feeling the sweat cool on his back.

"Shit." He added, supposedly an internal comment.

"I told Alana and Margot that you were sick. So they left already. . . Be thankful that your some how friends with them." Beverly's pissed off tone never left.

" . . . I did date Margot for a while." Will muttered half heartedly.

"Too much info! Anyway you better get your ass here, before your next meeting or else I'll make sure your ass is stuck to the chair in the office, got it?!" Beverly cussed ever so elegantly at her boss.

"When's the next meeting?" Uttered, already struggling with putting on his boxers.

"Nine, that gives you enough time to suck it up and get to the office to dress up!" A frustrated tone bellowed from the secretary.

"How did you even know it was a hoo—" Will questioned, pausing at Beverly's voice.

"Oh please Will, your married to your work. It's your obsession. It's your design. And this is one of the rare moments your actually late. So I'm giving you a pass, so tell your little hook up you gotta go." And with that Beverly cut the call. Making a resounding beep loop constantly.


	5. Chapter 5

"Good morning." Beverly said in a professional tone, a smile plastered on her face.

"Good morning." Hannibal replied, returning the polite gesture. The creases of his face folding softly.

"I'm sorry you have to wait, especially on the first day on the job, but you have to understand that our boss is a busy man." Beverly uttered, continuing pleasantries. Using half lies as an escape for their employer's tardiness. In this situation half truths are better than full truths, considering the man has been waiting for their boss for more than two hours. 

"I have to agree his preoccupation is understandable . . . considering he is quite the busy man, Or so I've heard." Hannibal answered, a hint of a nonchalant atmosphere taking his tone. And yet he still raised his watch up enough for viewing.

'9:48, it is rude to be late on an appointment' Hannibal thought, a slight impatience showing. The supposed 9 o'clock meeting already missed by more than 40 minutes.

And yet Beverly took it as though the man didn't quite care for the trivial aspects of the job. Lateness, personal endeavors and friendship was never part of the man's profession. It was his job to protect their boss and nothing more. Quite frankly, the arrangement is too stiff, and could do more with ease. But she was in no place to judge the figures actions. 

"So . . . Why did you apply here?" Beverly was quite relentless in her persistence to get to know the man. Mostly because the thought of him shadowing Will, would mean she has to deal with him too. 

She was intrigued per say. One of the aspects of Will that Beverly has acknowledged over the years, is that Will hates being taken care of. He hates being shadowed, followed or even guided by any figure remotely taking control of him. Even in her secretarial position she feels it. Will is a free spirit, locked in an anxiety ridden and paranoid body. So to say Will actually 'approved' of this man following him, caring for him and just being in close proximity is . . . Odd. 

"I didn't. I was simply invited and took the opportunity." Hannibal simply put, making Beverly nod. After a few minutes of polite conversation, Beverly excused herself to attend to her duties. 

Hannibal waited alone cross legged, back leaning against the smooth leather seat. His eyes wondered around, scanning the present area, before drowning in his own thoughts. 

What was said about the certain aspect of Hannibal's present employment is true. Hannibal was back from his previous 'assignment', for a certain man under the guise of 'red dragon'. The acts and pretense of that job is under wraps, and should never be discussed. About this time an old colleague approached him . . . Actually more so to gloat, about being handpicked by Jack Crawford as a candidate. Hannibal found this a challenge, and applied.

That comical instance should be the anecdote of the century. Oh, how Chilton regretted it now. Hannibal relished as Chilton and his ego was being cut down, as Hannibal told him of his new employment. To spite Chilton was a renewable entertainment that never ceases to amaze Hannibal. 

Of course Hannibal knew he would win. He always wins. And that is no surprise. . . Maybe this change of pace was to entertain his bored faculties. Hannibal rarely took in the position of 'security detail', mostly because he wasn't the most affordable choice, but also because he would reject offers that he perceived as mundane in nature. 

His few select clients are more than high profile, and the stint of the job wouldn't last for more than a few months. It was simple, the moment he got bored, he'd leave. They couldn't stop him from doing so, even if they tried. Most of the time he would simply disappear to a new country, taking in entertaining and convenient 'employment'.

"He will see you now" Beverly chimed, dragging Hannibal out of his trance. 

"Thank you." Hannibal replied as a curtesy. 

He stood up and followed the woman to a chic modern office. The glass windows casting down a lambent glow, reflecting the brilliant rays of the morning sun. 

Hannibal's eyes roamed as a familiar figure erupted from the resting area. His face showing a smug grin and his eyes narrowing on Hannibal's still figure.

"Sir, this is the new security detail." Beverly said, presenting Hannibal with an open palm.

"I see that, thank you Beverly, you're dismissed." Will uttered, waving the woman off. 

Beverly took it upon herself and obeyed, turning and strutting off to her station outside of the office. A thud echoed through as she closed the door of the room, as a creeping silence hung between the two. 

Hannibal stared at the 17th century painting that hung gracefully, as a decorative piece. Will on the other hand stared shamelessly at the man across the room. Will patiently waited for a response or an expression of surprise marking his bodyguard's face, but seeing as nothing came, Will took it upon himself to finally speak.

"Please come in. Good to see you again." Will broke the silence, waving Hannibal in his burrow of an office.

Hannibal stepped closer, facing the man with efficient space between them, three steps to be precise. In his position Hannibal could see the other's crystal blue eyes and cedar brown hair. Some of the streaks lighter than the others but the tone remained a warm brown. All these tiny details being revealed with the glowing rays of the sun. 

"You see, I'm in the habit of carefully monitoring those who work closest to me, mainly to know where their loyalty lies." Will uttered, taking a step closer.

"But sometimes to understand their interests. I like to see to it that my employees are . . . Content. Don't you agree that it's significant to do so?" Will tilted his head to the side, exposing an expanse of bitten skin, red on his pale complexion.

"I agree. But here is a tip on stalking . . . Ensure that the rental cannot be traced back to you." Hannibal finally spoke, and his words took Will by surprise.


	6. Chapter 6

"A man of your worth mustn't be seen cruising the godforsaken streets of this city. Nor should you be seen loitering around hotel lobbies and corridors looking for a lay. It does not damage your reputation alone, but makes you an easy target as well . . . " Hannibal lectured Will, just after their 'official' introduction.

Their first meeting being quite an . . . Intimate affair, that is being teased by the security detail's statement. Of course the happening of the affair would be under wraps and should never be discussed until necessary, which for a fact never would be. Shockingly the atmosphere around them is casual, if not, teasing would be the appropriate term. And already Beverly could feel it, or maybe it's her womanly intuition. 

She hasn't spoke to the two men since she served them coffee, which both accepted. He observed the subtle changes in Will's demeanor, and it was . . . Oddly satisfying to see. His awkward actions, turning somewhat calculated. But as usual she said nothing and went back to her station.

"I see that you and Jack would get on quite well. Considering I've heard that speech more than a few times . . . Of course only the first sentence of that statement." Will brushed the man off, as he stood up from the lounge and went back to his corporate seat, to get back to work. Hannibal in turn, stood up to face him from across the varnished desk. 

"If so, then this 'Jack', has good common sense." Hannibal noted, making Will sigh out loud. 

Being told off, wasn't irritating. But Will found it immensely repetitive. He was a grown man, he could make all the reckless decisions all he wants. 

" I also want to discuss your phone tapping system, it leaves significant sounds, beeps to be precise. I would like for you to replace that with a more efficient system." Hannibal continued on, making Will release a slight chuckle. 

"So you knew, you were being . . . Observed." Will uttered, more of a statement than a question, making Hannibal chuckle in turn.

"I noticed it as I entered the suite. I inspected the room throughly, and heard the sound by the phone. The application of the chip is amateur, and found it laughable. I expected more from you . . . Mr. Graham." Hannibal replied, explaining the happenings. His tone militaristic in nature and almost cold, if not for the folding creases around his eyes from his smirk.

"And you knew it was me?" Will looked up from his seat to meet the man's eyes.

"Yes." Hannibal said plainly.

"And yet you still went through with the . . . 'Event', of the night." Will insinuated, raising a brow. 

"Frankly, I would find it in poor taste to deny any kind of suitable invitation." Hannibal remarked his principle. 

"You found my 'invitation' suitable? I on the other hand must admit, I didn't intend to actually sleep with you. . . It maybe called a fateful accident perhaps." The other utter wide eyed, disbelief marking his face. 

"Fateful indeed. I find that I couldn't complain if I received the 'best', per say." Hannibal's utterance made the other blush at the bold reference. 

Will felt a tingling embarrassment creeping on him. After reflecting, he noted his . . . Words were elicit in nature. And he couldn't excuse his actions at all, even if his guise was a supposed (wo)man of the night. But it did sate his undying boredom for a while.

"Among eighty or so candidates, I had handpicked you. I knew I wouldn't go wrong with my choice." Will uttered satisfaction in tone.

"A choice that has yet to prove itself." Hannibal replied, moving an inch closer to Will.

Now officially face to face, Will's long lashes fluttered in a way he couldn't imagine he could. There was balance between them, red and blue orbs absorbing each other's existence. 

"I can afford making reckless choices, and by far you are my most reckless." Will leaned back, giving back the space that was lost 

"Second reckless decision. Spending the night with me should be the first." Hannibal uttered, making the other grin.

"Noted." Will stated, a grin still plastered on his face. 

"It seems like you two are getting along." Jack said emerging from the door, just in time to not hear the most condemning parts of the conversation.

"It seems so. Hannibal Lecter." Hannibal said offering a hand to shake. 

"Jack Crawford, Ive heard good things about you." Jack uttered, a smile casting on his face. He looked to Will who had a comfortable expression as well. 

"Thank you, I was worried of your impression of me, considering my skills may be lacking in some departments of the job." Hannibal uttered, of course the contents of this show of 'worry' was false. Hannibal very well knew, he was more than over qualified for the job. . . Even without stating his  extracurricular profession. 

"Nonsense! Your record is impeccable, I didn't think Mr. Graham would actually hire capable security. I really thought he'd hire someone on a whim to spite me." Jack uttered, making him and the older man laugh. 

"Jack, Will is fine. I've told you that a million times before." Will sighed a loud, not offended by what has been suggested. 

It was true though, Will was ready to hire a gag security, just to spite the man. It wasn't that he hated him, it was more of a rebellion. Like a teenager to his father. But alas, the blonde and maroon eyed European came to play and so his. . . Priorities became more elicit in nature. 

"But I really am interested in your file, doctor Lecter. You've been around the world, worked more than a few desirable professions. Why would you settle for this? Not that your business is cheap, but you can expand far more with a résumé like yours." Jack queried, presumably to test Hannibal's intentions. 

"Please, I'm not a practicing doctor anymore. Hannibal, would be more than pleasing to hear. As for your question . . . Have you ever been bored, Mr. Crawford?" Hannibal politely mused, before continuing on with the track of the conversation. 

"Well of course." Jack said raising a curious brow. 

"You see, as a former psychiatrist . . . I've seen people deteriorate due to loosing their perception in life and boredom of it. . . Think of this as an act of self preservation." Will understood the statement to a fault. A growing reflection of the two's similarity is growing in Will. Maybe they are the key to sate the boredom in each other.


	7. Chapter 7

Sweat trickled down his face, as a cold metal blade bar tapped his face. It was slick and cool across his heated cheeks. His disheveled clothes open for access, and his hands and feet bound tightly. His right shoulder ached in a way that he couldn't explain. . . Well he had an idea why it hurts, but one can't be too sure in a situation like this. 

The space he was being held in is a hotel room with Italianesque style. Really the cliché mafia theme comes to mind. Velvet carpets, a musky cloud of cigar smoke being subdued in an ashtray, the dark wooden panels of the walls, elevated by the dim light, that just so happen to be focused on him. I told you, cliché. 

The room reeked of tobacco, cheap cologne and hard whiskey. The whiskey seems to be the most appealing of the three, which says a lot since he doesn't particularly adore it's scent. 

A figure stood before him, tall and mocking against Will's seated body. A charcoal suit, pressed to perfection without any creases to it's American cut. Will couldn't really see the man's face, due to the dimness of the area, but he can make out an outline of him. 

Will's eyes winced revealing cool blues, as the figure pressed the knife softly on his cheek. Even with what little force it made, the flesh of the President's cheek was sliced. Droplets of blood fell to caress Will's face, staining the collar of his baby blue dress shirt. 

If he wasn't so preoccupied at the moment, he would complain that it was custom made shirt. Even if, for a fact he would gladly burn it, if it meant that he could lounge around in t-shirts and plaid button ups that he loved so much. 

Honestly Will nevertheless expected to be in this situation. After all it was a seemingly mundane day. . . Well except for the fact that Hannibal isn't by his side most of the day. Unintentionally. But at the same time he had a smugness in him that just said 'wait' for 'him'.

It all started approximately 8.5 hours ago.

"I need you to do me a little favour, Mr. Graham. . . " Hannibal, stepped out of his seat and strutted in front of Will.

Will took the action by surprise. Hannibal never asks for favours, within the month that he's been working for Will, it was clear he was independent in every way possible. Maybe its the mature atmosphere he brings, but never has he given Will any hints of the word 'need'.

"Open your mouth." Hannibal ordered, making Will raise a brow and get a little flustered, his imagination getting the best of him.

Since their first time, Hannibal hasn't shown any signs of interest in engaging in . . . The activity again. On the other hand, Will seems intent to repeat the happenings of that night, but all advances were seemingly turned down instantaneously. 

Will parted his lips ever so slightly to spite the man a bit. He still felt a little bitterness over the fact of his continual rejection.

Hannibal on the other hand, didn't mind his attempt and grabbed Will's face, pressing his cheeks to make his mouth gap open. With his other hand, Hannibal fished a small tack shaped object. He pressed on Will's cheeks harder, consequentially making him open his mouth wider, wide enough for Hannibal to insert two fingers in his employer's mouth. 

Will struggle even more, trying to move away but was halted by Hannibal efficiently.

"Try and bite me, and we'll see what happens." Hannibal gave a dry threat, but Will knew better than to throw a fit and obeyed. 

After a few seconds in the awkward position, Hannibal finally stepped back, withdrawing his fingers as the same time. Will on the other hand clutched his cheeks and probed his mouth.

"What did you do?!" Will said, choking a bit.

"I inserted a tracking device. Untraceable, undetectable and efficiently small. I assumed that you will protest in the application, so I took it upon myself, in consideration of your safety, sir." Hannibal narrated, pulling a handkerchief from hi front pocket and wiping his fingers nonchalantly. 

Will couldn't deny Hannibal's reasoning. It wasn't far from him to avoid any sort of tracking device at all. He hates being followed and he hates that people love to invade his privacy. 

Will couldn't muster a reply, instead he just stomped off, with a scowl on his face. He needed a break from all the craziness his new bodyguard has given him. 

He thought that maybe due to their one night stand Hannibal would be looser with Will, but unfortunately the man is a professional through and through. There isn't a crack in his demeanour, or any hints of familiarity at all. This has frustrated him since the last conversation they had about it, which was evidently their first as well.

Will snuck off the office through the emergency exit, and climbed down without much problem. He jumped from the last stair of the ladder to the ground, which had about a six foot difference. 

He stumbled and landed embarrassingly horrible, which may have pulled the muscle of his shoulder. But Will paid it no mind, as his thoughts were still circling around Hannibal. 

Hannibal has unfortunately become a growing obsession for the man. Sometimes Will's eyes would just wonder on the man for long minutes, before noticing he was doing it. Will felt like a sexually frustrated teenager, which made him feel worse. 

He limped it out, wondering the streets of New York without any quilmes. Of course this lasted approximately two hours, before being unceremoniously kidnapped while walking back to the office after cooling his head. 

And now they are here. 6.5 hours later, eyeing each other. Honestly if his kidnapper would go on a psychotic rant, it would be a complete movie opening for a Bond film. . . Of course Will was careful not to think too hard about the implication that he's a Bond girl in this situation. Fortunately he was spared of this, and was instead greeted by a stout consigliere type man. The man from before, took a step back and just observed.

"Comfortable Mr. Graham?" The man spoke sullen, his stature small yet intimidating in Will's seated form.

"Pretty much." Will said, his face gesturing to his tied legs and hands. 

"So what do you want?" Will started. If Hannibal won't find him, then he'll just have to negotiate his way out. At least that was the plan. 

"Money obviously—" the man said, making Will cut in to make his comment.

"Of course." This wasn't the first time the man has been kidnapped over the span of his life time. But this is the most . . . Comical in some aspects out of all, and the first successful attempt since Hannibal happened. 

Honestly he thought that his peace would last longer with Hannibal around . . . Well maybe this time it majorly his fault.

"So what's the cost?" Will dead panned, he has more significant things to do then be tied up in a chair, like so. 

"Your face and your whole company. . . We need a public figu—" and with that Will has had it.

"No." Will said plainly. He can handle the money, but not the annoying paparazzi and media that seems so adamant in finding out about his life. 

Will slumped back, and looked the man straight in the eyes. It could be said that it was stupid to challenge your captor, but at the moment, Will was in no mood for this. 

The consigliere was about to raise his hand to hit Will in the face, when the charcoal suited man caught his wrist mid way. The charcoal suited figure, pinned the consigliere down, putting pressure on his C2 vertebra.

"Even in this situation, you are as stubborn as ever." A familiar voice peaked, as the man incapacitated the consigliere.

The voice mocked Will, making him scowl. The man adjusted the lights, to even out the illumination. And there Will confirmed his suspension.

"How long have you been here?" Will queried, as Hannibal cut the zip ties with a blade he has hidden cautiously in his right jacket sleeve. 

"A few hours." Hannibal dead panned, as Will rubbed the red lines that marked his wrists and legs. 

"Then why haven't you released me?" Will mucked, he really wasn't in yo mood for Hannibal's apathetic explanation.

"I like seeing you tied up . . . I finally found a way to make you stay put. Of course there are other ways, but I find this one of most entertaining options." Hannibal uttered unexpectedly, that Will felt a fluster creep on him.

"I would love to continue this flirtatious banter, but we have to leave. Now. We have ap—" Hannibal added, making Will make a double take. 

"Wait, you were flirting with me?" Will was stunned. 

"Again, we have approximately .4 minutes to escape, so we have to move fast." Hannibal once again effectively dismissed Will, as he dragged his employer out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

There are a few things Will did not expect that he would do in his life. Particularly being cornered in an undisclosed area of a mafia infested building, while his bodyguard pinned him down on the floor with a hand on his mouth to be more precise.

"Be quiet." Hannibal whispered next to Will's right ear. His lips so close to Will's ear that he could feel the other's warm breath breeze against a patch of his skin.

This would honestly be an arousing situation. If it weren't for the loud sounds, the metal clinks of reloading ammunition and gunfire. 'Why now?!' Will cursed internally as Hannibal stood up from his previous position, which was unfortunately on top of Will. 

"We must keep moving, stay behind me at all times. Do not speak unless necessary. Do not wonder and never get distracted. Are we clear?" Hannibal uttered it like well rehearsed line in a play. His tone oozing professionalism. 

Will just nodded. His goal wasn't to get killed that for one, is for sure. Or is it human instinct to want to live? Probably. It is clear at that very moment he wanted to live. He felt his heart beating faster and faster, as a rush of adrenaline poured within him. 

"Calm down." Hannibal spoke, placing a hand strategically in between his neck and shoulder, rubbing Will's cheek with his thumb. Will accepted the gesture as something soothing, immediately associating it with safety. 

A loud bang alerted Hannibal to step up and start moving. He pulled out his glock, that was hidden behind his suit jacket. The man went through the process of checking ammunition and flicked the safety off with a swift movement. 

Hannibal peeked through the door, scanning the visible area for any unnecessary encounters. 

"As much as I would love to, our current disposition is not helpful in eliminating any sort of danger. We have a limited vantage point, nor has anybody invented a gun that provides unlimited bullets. I suggest we avoid all unnecessary encounters. . . I have contacted Jack on our whereabouts. All we have to do is last until they come." The older man monotonously dubbed, already sliding through the door frame, leading Will out.

Hannibal navigated them out, pressing his back against the wall and shielding Will with his form. No one has come against them yet, effectively getting them a quarter to their destination before two men blocked them. They were both aggressive in poise and posture, rugged in their actions in contrast to their fine tailored suits, Hannibal noted. 

When they noticed the two trying to sneak their way out, the hoodlums lunged forward ready to attack, knives drawn and ready for action. Hannibal narrowly avoided the front man's first strike, dodging it by a hair. 

Hannibal pushed his employer aside, whilst avoiding the gleaming knives pointed at their direction. This move made the guard drop his gun, but his objective was to keep his employer safe, gun or not he has to take the two hoodlums down. 

The guard settled to take them one at a time with the prospect of a larger chance of survival. He opted to fight the seemingly larger of his two opponents. He kicked the knife the man held, sending it flying, in a dangerously close direction to Will, who thankfully avoided it by moving to his left. The knife stabbed the wall, alerting Will of it's quality and sharpness. It was military grade, Will noted, pulling it out of the wall and gripping the handle tightly in his hand. 

Hannibal placed a well practiced kick on his opponent's . . . Privates. The opponent fell to his knees cupping his broken appendage. Grabbing the man's face, Hannibal unceremoniously jerked his head to the side in a single precise movement. An obvious sound of cracking, echoed through the silence. It made Will's hair raise, the distinctness of it's familiar and irking action. 

A sudden clashing sound of metal on metal alerted the two, as the second opponent readied his gun, shooting aimlessly at them. Hannibal ordered Will to proceed to the corner, where the wall partially protected them. 

"Are you hurt?" Hannibal asked in concern, as he pressed Will to the wall protecting him from the sight of the passing bullets.

"Yes—no? I honestly don't know." Will muttered. 

"So how are we going to escape this one?" Will added averting his eyes away. He didn't want to look weak or helpless, but his body language betrayed him. 

"He'll run out of ammunition eventually." Replied going along with Will's façade of calm. 

It took less than a few minutes before what Hannibal predicted happened. His conclusion was on point, with his opponent's compulsive shooting being the ultimate clue. A sudden sound of empty chinks cued them two move forward. 

Hannibal grabbed the knife from Will's hand, Hannibal charged his opponent. The man was distracted and was about to reload his ammunition. Hannibal plunged the knife in between his opponent's neck and shoulder, cutting off a major artery. It was a strategic place to attack, but messy in terms of elimination. Hannibal drew the knife out, making the blood spurt carelessly, as the man struggled of the floor, half alive and yet still fighting for his life. 

"Goodbye." Hannibal uttered, a glint of a devil in his eyes, looking down on a man that thought him as such. 

"Wa—it! I know— who you are!" The man said pausing, to take his breath, as a pool of his blood stained the already red carpet in a dramatic shade of scarlet. 

Hannibal stilled, waiting for the expounded statement.

"Red Dr—" Hannibal waited no longer, and slit his throat, ending the man's misery. Will looked curious at the statement but opted to pry on it on a later date. 

The red substance painted Hannibal's skin like a long lost part of his being. Hannibal felt the warm blood cool on his skin.

Usually Hannibal opted to kill in ways that would be clean and gift wrapped in a sense. Mundanely, blood won't be drawn and yet the job would most likely be done. Hannibal was in a way repulsed by mess, making this his messiest kill to date. 

On the other hand Will found this a fascinating scene. A single lock of hair falling on his guard's well structured face, amazingly his hair stayed mostly untousled. A distinct lingering scent of iron powered Will's nose, as Hannibal proceeded to disarm and incapacitate his opponent. Streaks of blood painted his hands and cheek, while it blended seamlessly on his charcoal suit. Hannibal moved with experience like a one man army. Which, in fact, he is at this very moment. 

Hannibal instinctively patted the men down, retrieving his last opponent's gun and two magazines. 

"Do you know how to shoot a gun?" Hannibal queried, waiting for Will's reply.

"I've shoot a couple of times as a part of Jack's self defense training—" Will stumbled on his words. 

"Good enough." Hannibal cut Will's explanation and threw him the automatic pistol and the magazines. 

Will caught it, assembling its parts confidently in contrast to his worried tone just a few minutes ago. Hannibal on the other hand picked up his gun, that laid idly by the right wall. He stowed it away to it's previous position, while arming himself with the used bloody knife. He admittedly took a liking to its sharpness, and was thoroughly tested, as evidence by the bloody body on the floor. 

The minutes pass and thankfully they have yet, to receive a fatal encounter. Will took note that his guard was calculated and cautious in his decisions. They have run into trouble a few times, but Hannibal disposed of them halfheartedly. 

They are finally on the ground floor, the exit was blocked by bulky men in suits. Hannibal pulled Will back, gesturing him to stop. The vantage of their position is convenient and dangerous. They are exposed and yet, they hand the advantage of taking the men down.

Hannibal had two choices. Retreat and wait for back up or attack. He weighed in his options, but unfortunately Will wasn't giving him any. Will charged in, compulsively shooting at the men with amiable accuracy, shooting them in random places that were consequentially vital. Of course their luck didn't last too long, as one of their seven opponents shot back, hitting Will squarely on his chest. 

Will instinctively dropped the gun, as pain rushed through his senses. A stinging pain, caressed him. His body dropped down, as blood flowed continuously out. 

"I told you to stay behind." Hannibal sighed, pressing his lips together. He looked at Will who was struggling to stay conscious, already foretelling what may come. 

To say Hannibal didn't take the situation lightly is an understatement. He had three of the seven men were left to fend off, as Will did most of the work on the other four in disabling them. 

Hannibal's cool collected manner remained and yet, the intensity of his eyes were there, mocking and irritated. He knew he had to do this fast or his employer would die of blood loss. 

Hannibal pulled out his gun feeling the metal's room temperature warmth, the grip fitting him perfectly. He looked at Will, who was incapacitated at the moment taking note that this was a perfect opportunity for a game, no matter how untimely it may be. 

"Three bullets." He announced drawing the attention, they looked confused enough for Hannibal to simply use this minuscule, two second distraction to aim three perfect shots into his opponents' craniums. 

As the bodies dropped, Hannibal hurriedly went to Will's aid, by putting pressure on the wound. He opened Will's jacket, vest and shirt to reveal the wound. It was thankfully embedded on the right side of the chest, missing the most important vitals. 

'Not as fatal as I expected.' The former doctor thought, inspecting what he can do.

Will's right lung on the other hand is a different story, Hannibal took note that the man can drown in his own blood. The puncture of the bullet was deep enough to put a hole in his lung. Hannibal shrugged off his jacket, pressing it on the wound. 

Three tempting scents bombarded the doctor in the close proximity. The first the alluring iron of fresh blood, the second was the tin scent of gunpowder, the rusting tones evident. The third was the unique scent of Will, slightly muzzled by a horrid after shave. All of this utterly appealing, calling to be devoured. 

Hannibal lifted a blood soaked hand to his lips, taking a teasing taste. His index finger pressing on his lips lightly. The taste different, superior, from the sub par quality that is or better yet, 'was' his previous kill. 

The blood was warm, undoubtedly fresh and hatefully delicious. Devouring his employer was a tempting prospect, but a part of him wanted to savour the man to live. A unique thought that has never crossed his mind concerning his 'hunting activities.

Fortunately sirens and lights in the shade of blue and red reflected on the glass doors, stopped him from continuing in his trance.


	9. Chapter 9

The constant echoing of rhythmic beats, surround the room. Flat and appeal of life, very evident. 

Will laid flat on his bed, attached to numerous machines. All the life support iluminated and blinked mockingly at Jack, who sat by Will's side slightly infuriated. It's been two days, and nothing significant has changed in Will's condition. 

"He was your charge." Jack uttered accusatory in nature.

"I would take full responsibility if the event." Hannibal replied dismissively. His figure shadowing over the door frame, gradient form passing the bed with the dimming lights.

Silence ensued, no additives from both forsaken parties. Both just looked longingly at the unconscious body. White bandages wrapped around the man's torso, while a red stained gauze erupted with droplets of a larger drying patch. Will's cheek cut patched with a gauze. 

As Hannibal predicted, Will would survive. His analysis of the man's situation was perfect to a t. Will's left lung slightly punctured, with blood almost drowning him to death; again, almost. As Hannibal added, that situation won't be likely, with the first aid given and the speed of the called back up. 

When the police got to their location, Jack at the frontier, a gruesome scene emerged. Blood painted the walls in varying strikes. The red carpet, stained with winesque blood. Bodies scattered like toys in the nursery. In the middle of this chaos, Hannibal's back would be seen, hunched down on his knees over a laying figure. 

Jack briskly approached Hannibal, only to find Will unconscious and pale. The older man's eyes wondered at Hannibal's blood stained sleeve. The white cotton soaking in on the blood. Immediately Jack shouted for the paramedics, while helping Hannibal keep the pressure.

Two men rolled in carrying a stretcher, before carefully lifting Will on to it. Three medics ran to the stretcher's side monitoring vitals. Jack followed the team out, shouting orders to presumably his other subordinates. On the other hand, a medic scuttled to Hannibal inspecting him of any injuries. 

"We better get you to the hospital." The medic said, patting Hannibal by the shoulder. 

"Im fine." Hannibal replied cooly, standing up and wiping the blood on his charcoal pants barely marked by red. 

"No, that's not what I'm saying. Your physically fine, I for one can see that, but mentally I don't think so." The tune of her voice filled with worry. Hannibal kept his micro expressions at bay, his mental eyes narrowing at her. His mask was perfect, how could this woman even peek into his psyche? 

"Seeing someone get shot is always going to leave a scar on you." She added to Hannibal's relief. 

"Thank you, but this isn't the first time I witness the occurrence. In this profession, guns seems to be the most sought after toy." Hannibal uttered, as he looked down to level his eyes on the woman.

Toned dark chocolate skin, glistening with a little sweat on her forehead. Her hair tightly secured in a bun. She was almost of the same age as him, if not a little older. She was . . . Pleasing, if pressured to describe so. 

Hannibal took a deep breath, registering her scent by memory. An odd combination comes to mind, gun powder, morphine and roses. She had a unique scent as every body does, but it's mixed with a familiar one. One that reeked of office enclosure and age. 

"I would offer you dinner, but it seems that Jack has already got you preoccupied. I suppose a formal thank you would be in proper order after this event has been arranged." Hannibal commented slyly, seeing the shock on her face. She let out a giggle, patting him on the shoulder.

"Well that should be about right, and Jack should be preoccupying me, Bella Crawford." She held out her hand to shake.

"Please excuse my rudeness, but it seems that with my present appearance, I won't be able to shake your hand." Hannibal said, making Bella look down on the man's blood soaked hands. She just nodded understanding the situation. 

Hannibal found the woman truly pleasant, a rare feat, considering he has no interest in most people. Especially the opposite gender. Yes, they were beautiful, gentle with an undeniable demure. But Hannibal found no significant use for them. But this one, had a darkness slightly reminiscent of an aunt that was so dear to him. Her name engraved so deeply in his mind, but should never be spoken. 

Back in the present, Bella walked in on the conversation, looking at Jack with destain. She waltz in, not saying a word, checking Will's vitals. 

"He's stable, call me if anything happens." And she was gone, ignoring her husband's presence. 

"Looks like Bella's taken with you." Jack muttered, slouching on his seat.

"I found your wife a pleasing presence in times of need." Hannibal's hyperbole elated Jack in an indescribable way.

"She is. She tells me you care for Will as much as I do." Jack finally broke a smile, looking at Hannibal directly in the eye. 

"How so?" He said confused in tone, but knowing in nature. 

"I personally don't know, she says its a woman's intuition." Jack said letting the insinuation last with a lengthen beep of the life support.


	10. Chapter 10

An immense pain, peremptorily pried Will's eyes to open. A burning sensation pressing his chest like a freshly lit cigarette's tip, marking his alabaster skin. 

His eyes roamed at the image of a salt coloured ceiling, dusty and unnoticed by many. And yet it remained panoramic and blurry as his eyes carefully scanned the area. His eyes could only reach so much in this position, making him try to sit up, but his shaking arms failing him miserably. His body won't listen to his pleads. 

"Will. . . " a familiar voice greeted him, and yet his vision has yet to reveal this stranger. 

"Who—who are you?" A freighted and confused voice emerged from Will's mouth. This weakened voice leaving an ichor taste in his mouth. 

"Will it's Jack, time to go home." The tone coxing and calming like his father's voice. . . At least when the man wasn't dead drunk. 

Will's head lifted slowly, a clearer image of Jack, draped in his odd ensemble of casual and formal appeared before him. His formal shirt, slacks and shoes, essentially topped with a long faded scarf, an open coat and a grey fedora. He's built a little scruff peppered with grey tones and white specks. He seemed worn out and older, as if years have passed since they last talked.

"Welcome back Will." Jack uttered, making feel an odd pull of feeling on his chest.

"Please don't hate me for what I did . . . You needed help Will, you have to understand." Jack bargained, but Will's mouth wouldn't move from its locked place. 

"Your new psychiatrist would be visiting you shortly, as for now it's time to go home." Jack said, stepping closer to him. 

Will struggled, shifting side to side, only to notice he's restrained by a white canvas straight jacket. His arms were tied across for him, in a way of self embrace. Jacks foot steps crept one step at a time, making Will stare at Jack's dusty brogues, a hickory brown dominant tone stood out from it. 

Jack's feet finally stopped a foot from his bed, bending over to pull Will up into a sitting position. Will leaned his back on the wall behind him. And the room's image finally drawn together. 

It was the old hospital back in Baltimore. A place he's stayed in for more than he cared to admit. It was the same room as his last visit, the salt coloured walls and ceiling, the wooden chairs, pecked and rusting. The scent of pines, varnish and the cold Maryland air. He hated it. This crude joke coming back to him once again. 

The flashing of memories went flowing back. Blood, flashing lights, loud screams then finally a loud bang. White noise ensued, a dimming vision of bright red splatters on the placid snow. The hot blood bouncing before settling down on the temperate surroundings. A static mechanical tone followed after the silent rings of blue and red lights. An aching pain on his chest, burned in him again, after the reminiscent vision passed.

"Why are we here?! Where is Hannibal?!" Suddenly remembering his companion.

Will froze as Jack gave him a sympathetic look. Guilty and cold all at the same time. His lips parted ever so slightly itching to say the words that Jack always gave to the family members of his security team after an unnecessary run-in.

"Im sorry for your loss."

***

"Emergency protocol, NOW!" Bella shouted, as she teared through Will's bandages, there was nothing wrong to be seen, except for the failing vitals.

Will's body convulsed in a continuous shake, his vitals falling as rapid as the blood flowed with in him, clotting his system. It was a deathly situation, one that no one expected to happen.

Other nurses and doctors flooded in, some pushing Jack and Hannibal away from the private room. 

Jack cursed and fisted the wall, making his knuckles bruise. His eyes clouded with fury. While Hannibal remained indifferent, but his inner thoughts marked a rabid edge of anger and hate for the people pushing him out. 

Soon, Will's bed is rolled into the operating room, with an entourage of nurses and doctors heading in for prepping.  

Bella approached the two, blood soaking her arms and hands, with streaks of it painting her abdomen like stripes. The only conclusion Hannibal could give was that the doctor's opened Will's wound once again. 

"What's wrong with him?" Jack queried, his hand resting worrisome on his forehead.

"That's the problem Jack . . . There is nothing wrong with him. He was healing just fine, everything was smooth until his vitals just drop making his wound reopen. I mean his skin has already mended, but the scar tissue on his lung opened, making it fill with blood. . . He could have died drowning in his own blood." 

"Doctor Virgil had to open him up and operate again." Bella explained, wiping off some of the blood on her blue scrub. 

Hannibal gave the statement some thought, not liking the conclusion. He miss calculated, a circumstance he never expected to encounter. He has never made a mistake. Mundanely he would make mistakes on purpose to seem more . . . Human. 

"It's a possible case of a psycho-somatic effect." Hannibal uttered, cutting through the couple's intimate conversation. 

"Psycho-somatic?" Jack's tone lingering somewhat in confusion. 

"There are cases in which a patient's mind is killing his or her body. Usually causing illness and paralyzation to that of a physically healthy patient." Hannibal explained making Jack give a look of weary.

"Are you saying this might be suicide?" Jack assumed, making Hannibal look more marked as a killer in his eyes. 

"No. What I am implying is the possibility that W—Mr. Graham might be in a state of self induced coma." Hannibal expatiated, making Jack's eyes narrow.

Will has been in this state for more than three months and in the first month alone, he's healed perfectly, the scar and bandage was the only evidence of the event. And yet Will never woke up or moved an inch.

"That is a possibility . . . I better go and check it out. You two boys better stay put and play nice." Bella uttered, turning her back and jogging to the mob of nurses rushing in and out of the prep room. 

This made 'feel' Hannibal. . . Vulnerable, a liability he never expected to possess. Will has . . . Attached to his consciousness, a feat that has never been. Hannibal's control is getting out of hand . . . Completely unwanted.

Hannibal's thoughts spiraled, until he felt his phone ring. He fished the item out of his jacket's inner pocket, then politely excused himself from Jack's presence.

Hannibal stepped put side of the hospital into a dark pine ridden lot. Silence was an amiable companion of the stale surrounding, he noted. Hannibal took one look at the unregistered number, and knew exactly who it was. He inwardly cursed, but took it anyway. 

"Good evening Hannibal, I hope I'm not disturbing you at the moment." A familiar voice played in his ear. Sultry and calm as his façade was.

"Not at all, a friend in trouble I presume." Hannibal uttered. His tone teasing and yet serious, objectively taunting.

"It seems so. I have a job for you, an unpleasant one at that. It seems your little bodyguard charades, has . . . given my client a bit of trouble. " the woman at the other end chose her words carefully, fully knowing what might her rudeness result to.

"My game is the only game I play Bedelia, I am sure you are well aware of that." Hannibal uttered, making Bedelia unconsciously clutch her left shoulder, where a lengthy scar resided. 

'A remembrance.' She thought, as she shifted carefully from her seat. Making the leather echo into the phone.

"Hannibal, a life is not a game." Bedelia broke, making a sound she desperately detested.

"Bedelia, there is a difference with being alive and living." Hannibal commented, a scoff came from the other end. 

"True, you are merely alive, but living is difficult if you do not reciprocate humanistic tendencies."  Bedelia uttered as a careful insult, making Hannibal chuckle in turn.

". . . What is your motive Bedelia. You do not call without purpose. . . I do not believe that you have acquired a taste on a spontaneous contact." Hannibal stirred the conversation into the direct point.

"We found what your looking for. I expect that your little mission would be swift . . . I would send you the location after this call." The other uttered, making a smile creep on Hannibal's face. 

"And I believe I would owe you a favour in turn."

"That would be a sufficient payment. . . Your following orders would be come in the next few weeks. I expect the best results."

" as usual." Hannibal ended the conversation, going back to his previous location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those confused, the italics mean that its part of a hallucination/dream \\(ㅎㅊㅎ)/
> 
> sorry for the confusion! 
> 
> — Eli


	11. Chapter 11

The rearing voices on people, packed in the airport, and the unceremonious cheer of children roamed around him. His scarlet eyes, garnet in the shade of the port.

"Taxi?" An Italian man offered, but Hannibal waved him off. 

"No, grazie." Hannibal replied as he waited by the shade.

His suitcase and dark suit complimented his dapper look. It stirred some unwanted attention, especially from the opposite sex, which he wasn't too keen on making contact with. 

He wasn't particularly intrigued with both males and females in normal circumstances. But females are different to him, cunning yet soft and utterly deceiving. This deception is in their nature, which disturbs the purity of their exterior to a fault. Whilst men on the other hand, relies on logic, but lacks the common sense females possess, it could be said that, with males they have a single minded goal.

That is until Will Graham, the childish man who peaked his interests. He was bold and unbelievably intelligent and sly, although careless at times. He had a mocking edge that dances between pessimism and realism, as well as the added advantage of being youthfully attractive. Boyish, even. 

Dark curly locks, alabaster skin, deeply mischievous blue orbs and a teasingly unique charm that picks it's victim. It isn't a surprise how much attention he gets from both sexes, but his choice of partners was undeniably questionable. Present assassin included. 

A few moments pass before a black Chrysler, sleek and new pulled up infront of him. It was similar to the one he owned, but it was a newer model. He did after all had the taste for the vintage models. 

A striking woman emerged from the driver side, aged, exuberant class seeping through her channel sunglasses. Her blonde hair flow effortlessly down, but barely reaching the end of her shoulder blades. It was wavy and curled at the bottom, not a stray hair to be seen. A brown cashmere trench coat covered her clothes, her smooth pale legs branching out of the cloth just below the knee. She portrayed money, power and ambition, an embodiment uniquely her's. 

"Welcome back." She dead panned, an upper class accent eliciting arrogance, coupled with high intelligence. Her eyes were merely half drawn under the glasses, not paying too much attention to the figure before her. 

"I didn't expect you to be the one to retrieve me." Hannibal admitted, placing his luggage in the now opened trunk, before abruptly slamming it shut. 

"I believe you deserve. . . A more casual approach. So I personally volunteered to be your welcoming party." She uttered, words dipped in an unprecedented sarcasm. 

The two soon ducked down and climbed on to the vehicle, with the woman taking the wheel. It was a silent affair, no one was in the particular mood to speak. But an impatient gnawing prodded Hannibal's instinctual curiosity. He didn't have time to leisure with a playful mystery and puzzle that seems to endlessly line up the more he did his . . . Extracurricular activities. 

"Bedelia . . . I believe it's about time you . . . Unravel your motives." Hannibal uttered half heartedly, not particularly surprised with the other's tight lipped gesture, as she gripped the steering wheel tighter in comparison to the former, that a familiar sound of leather on leather emitted it's plead. 

"You have caused quite a bit of trouble with your charades, Hannibal. . . 'He' isn't too pleased with your activities. . . Especially your unwanted encounters." Bedelia strayed her eyes on Hannibal for a glance, seeing the other's irritably passive look drawn.

"This is not a game anymore, Hannibal. You know it. I know it. And everybody in our organization knows it—"

"I am no longer working for them, 'our' seems to be too much of a stretch."  Hannibal interjected, annoyance evident in his posturing.

"To say that you are the favorite of our anonymous employer repels others of your being, not to mention your lack of care for the matter adds to the dismay of your flamboyant reputation." Bedelia continued anyway, a frown replacing the uncaring look. 

"I do not need the superfluous opinions others may have." The hitman retorted, eyes cold and demanding.

"I know. . . And that would be your own down fall." Bedelia uttered, already passing the city. The scenery escorted by the drawing of the sun, glowed painfully in ombre shades of red and yellow. 

". . . That is why I find it . . . Odd. . . That you would engage in an interest regarding a certain millionaire." Hannibal's fingers twitched, an oddly human reaction, Bedelia noted, not attempting to mention it just yet. 

"I don't understand why you insist on continuing this charades, you have no need for the money he provides. From the very start you don't even need to work. Your from a bourgeoise family, aristocratic in nature. The sole heir to an unclaimed fortune, not to mention the stock money you have kept, and the added . . . Income from your . . . Activities. You surpassed what he can provide." 

"I do your accounting, don't argue with me." She added, taking her time to glare at the man before turning back to the road. 

"I see no need for you to play with life and death." The tone of each word hardened in her lips. 

"I am bored. Boredom is the greatest enemy of any sane man." Hannibal replied, looking directly at the seemingly endless road. 

"Sane?" A silent praise came from Bedelia's lips, the paramount of humor. 

"That statement itself proves your . . . Tendencies . . . your instability forges The foundation of your instincts. A valuable asset to our organization." Bedelia spouted, making the other raise a brow. 

"The mundane aspects of life has never satisfied me." Hannibal uttered, a smirk creeping on his strong features. 

"And yet, you bed one of your employers on the first night." The woman replied familiarly unimpressed. 

"I merely agreed to his proposal." The other retorted, visualizing the face of the particular warm body he shared, and immediately his features clutched at the constant reminder of the man's current state. 

"And if this is just a pleasure of the body, why have you come back here for a petty revenge?" A glinting response plastered. Hannibal glared at Bedelia, tempted to pull the gun he had tucked in his belt.

"Hannibal, we both know that there is no shortage of warm bodies, accessible to you. . . But you've stopped seeking . . . Nightly company. And that alarms us." Bedelia uttered nonchalantly, making a right turn at the next corner. 

Hannibal noted the accumulation of 'us' and 'our' as the conversation progressed. Something immensely flawed the flow of it. 

"I see I was not wrong in my assumptions of your monitoring." Hannibal deadpanned, pleasantly unsurprised. 

"That isn't the point. If one day you were ordered to kill this . . . Will Graham, would you be able to do it? I can't have you be a liability."

"You speak as though, I am still a part of the 'organization'." The hitman hinted at a threatening tone. 

"You know your still a part of it. . . You can't escape."

"You are the best at what you do Hannibal, you know you are. But if you become a liability or hinder any orders, you will be disposed off accordingly." Bedelia's tone dug deeper at the last sentence. 

" is that a threat Bedelia?" Hannibal nudged light heartedly. 

"A friendly reminder." Bedelia uttered no contest. 

A sudden familiar sound echoed in both their ears, making the woman stomped her foot on the breaks, steering the car to the side, a loud screech of the tires crying. The dark marks on the road a reminder of another impulsive action, as they drifted in a spectacularly calculated fashion. 

The sound of metal on metal collision resonated on the metal railings and glass panels on the the car. It seems another unwanted encounter will ensue.


	12. Chapter 12

The two ducked down from their seats as a barrage of bullets haled on them. The thick bullet proof glass gave them a slight refuge on the field, but the metal panels were not so lucky. It was dented and almost ready to pass through, but due to the persistent nature of the alloid metal, it remained. 

Bedelia took this opportunity to divert the car at full speed, a sudden turbulence and shake of the vehicle indicating it resistance to the sudden movement. But the woman pushed the car to it's limits until it obeyed, wavering through the tight Italian streets. 

Make no mistake, the streets were utterly crowded at this time, giving the two an opportunity to lay low. Parking at an secluded alley, the car halted, as the two passengers silently stayed put.

Bedelia pushed her seat down and crawled to the back, pulling a lever under it. She pulled the cushion and reared it up to reveal a collection of weapons and ammunition. 

"Pick your weapon of choice." She commented, already holding a glock and sliding in its ammunition. She snapped the safety off, testing it's aim. 

Hannibal's eyes scanned through the collection's contents. Approaching an elongated black case. He placed it on his lap and unlocked it to determine its caliber.

As presumed, it was the latest model of a sniper rifle, silencer already intact. The scent of the well manufactured item, made the metal's cold exterior tingle in the man's touch. A grin already set on his face. 

"That's not a very obscure weapon. I would suggest something smaller, but we both know you wouldn't listen." An exasperated statement from the woman, made Hannibal impart another grin.

"I don't need obscure Bedelia . . . Silence and power is necessary to win any war, and this provides both."  The man's half-lidded eyes glinting at the items, feeding it ammunition. 

"We have no vantage point. . . " Bedelia blundered, skeptical of the probabilities. 

"I have my ways." Hannibal uttered, whilst manoeuvring his presence out of the vehicle. 

"As always." She dead panned to herself, following suit. 

"Hannibal!" Bedelia called out, as the man was already a head of her, edging the alley. 

"Meet me if you must, but I will not risk my life and reputation for a toy." The woman spat, pointing out the comatose figure that haunts the man of that earthy familiar taste. A rare find, unique and well kept, he doesn't plan on losing that now. 

"Farewell Bedelia." Hannibal just imparted a single nod as a sign of his departure. 

"In the circumstance of your death, I will be forced to erase everything about your existence. . . No trace, it would be like you have never existed, a ghost." the woman halts him again, uttering facts as protocol has it. 

"Not a very hard job to do. I leave no marks." the man grinned, knowing full well of the capabilities of his spotless artistry. 

"And yet like a beast you have marked your territory. . ." Bedelia muttered, mouths pressing tightly as she aimed her gun in Hannibal's direction. 

The temptation of the kill whispering to her. The scar on her shoulder palpitating, asking her to pull the trigger. It would be most gratifying to apply the law of Hamurabi, to cut down and take what was taken from her. And yet she knew it was never her choice to make.   

"I do not wish to interfere or intervene whatever game you wish to participate in. . . But as someone. . . Relatively 'connected' to your . . . Extracurricular activities. I suggest you follow our prime directive. . ." She threatened again, before pulling the trigger. The familiar scent and sound of an ejecting bullet calms the tension in her shoulder. 

The bullet flew and hit the target mercilessly, getting the trajectory perfectly in line. Hannibal didn't wince as the bullet passed him. And the man that was pointing a gun in Hannibal's direction sputtered down, putting in a clean shot to the head.  

"No evidence, no attachments." Hannibal supplements, as Bedelia lowered her weapon. 

"I wish you to be alive after this ordeal, you have yet to return my favour." Bedelia uttered nonchalantly, stepping closer and closer to Hannibal. 

"The name?" The man uttered, oddly enthusiastic in tone, but stoic in features. 

"Tobias Budge. . . He is looking for a friend to share familiar interests with. I believe you two are . . . Compatible. " Bedelia mocked in a sarcastic tone, already out of the alley leaving Hannibal to his thoughts. . . 

"An uninteresting character I presume."

***

The breeze harshly kissed his skin, brushing the dipping fringe in a soft wave. The noise of the city buskering and loud, shouts echo through it. The tan and reddish tint of the structures that surround him resilient for it's time. 

From his vantage, the man could see the whole city. Every colour and hue of a picture perfect image of Italy. If he had time, he would have sketched the eternally mystifying beauty of the renaissance and classical structures that surrounds the area. But alas time has always been an enemy for all. 

The unnerving mundaneness of the kill has been prodding him since the last mission. His success rate is standard, meaning, never found and never lost, a perfect record. 

But today he wanted to venture into something more interesting. He held the american coin between his thumb and index finger, viewing its gleam. The former president Roosevelt winking with shine against the sun rays. His black leather gloved hand contrasting the coin, making it far more visible in his grasp. 

And he threw the dime down the building, before speedily getting into position. Bending down to the gun's level. 

His had stiffly gripped the handle, cold and slowly inducting the warm temperature of the Italian breeze. With a single deep inhale of breath, he started. Like a demon possessing his body and mind.

Bang, the first kill fell, followed by a second, third and forth before he lost count. His fingers instinctively twitched as he aimed, his mind calculating all the factors that may interfere with the kill. Wind speed, velocity, trajectory, uncontrolled variables, and the weight of the bullet itself already considered. . . Whilst shooting between heartbeats for a steady aim.

Meanwhile the dime was nearing the ground, slowly descending to its destination. No hesitation on its almost mathematical free fall, almost, but seems physics would like to disagree with the air resistance kicking in half way through the journey. 

Like clock work, milliseconds before the dime hit the ground, Hannibal was done. Taking out all twenty six mercenaries in a single kill streak. 

Their dark black paired suits now dawned and soak in a hue of deep red. People shouted and screamed as the men just dropped dead, with blood leaking on where they used to stand. 

Hannibal looked below to see only the coin's meager gleam against the pavements. He smiled, knowing full well he won his own little competition, even if he didn't see it. 

He immediately packed all the evidences into the case, picking up the bullet casings that fell, before escaping. 

Meanwhile, man clad in brown bent down from the foot of the building. Looking at the coin on the pavements. Its shine still in it, neither dulling or fading through the ordeal. The man picked it up, recognising the coin, before shoving it to he's pocket. 

"So the ghost is now American. . . " the man whispered to himself, looking up at the buildings roof top. 

He swiftly ran inside, demanding information about any American in the vicinity, but was apprehended by the guards, before showing his badge. Immediately the hotel management apologizes, but he just pushed them out of the way and pursued to scan the lobby. 

A tall man caught his eye, blonde with immaculate hair, baring a dark trench coat and gloves. He held in his left hand a case, that seems far too founded to be carrying luggage.  

He stopped the man from going any further, making the man halt and stare unceremoniously at the shorter man. 

"Show me your luggage!" The inspector demanded in english, making the other merely raise a brow. 

"In what right —" the man was immediately cut off with the swaying of inspector Pazzi's badge, making the man grip the case tighter. 

It was a long stand off between the two, before the man reluctantly oblige passing the case to the inspector after unlocking it. Pazzi hastily opened it to find . . .  

"Papers?" Pazzi looked puzzled, gaping at the man in disbelief.

"I am an attorney for US–Italian relations. My name is Alexander Turner." The man said passing his card to Pazzi, who was still stunned in place. 

"I do believe what you did is against protocol inspector. . . Be careful, you might get bitten." The attorney playfully threatened, before leaving the establishment and entering a black sleek car. 

All the while Hannibal passed the scene without a problem, taking the luck as a mere coincidence. He walked passed a distracted inspector Pazzi unconcerned with the real threat's presence.


	13. Chapter 13

"How much longer do you plan to sulk? For God's sake Will, it's been a month. . . You have to let it go." Jack pleaded as Will pressed himself further on the headboard refusing all forms of company. Jack was never the exception, Jack just didn't care for the laws and boundaries he's put up. 

Jack sat at the foot of the creaking bed, making Will glare at him with all he could muster. But, he was tired, no one left him alone to his own devices, to mourn. Everyone assumed he planned to kill himself, even regarding him as 'psychologically unstable' and an 'empath', words that he hasn't heard since high school. 

This same old house, that is unkept, which he hasn't visited in years, he is in again. His old bed under him and the nightmares are back. All the things he kept away, locked up in unforgivable memories, reopened. Even the creature in his dreams clawing back at him again. 

Everything he hated came back to haunt his reality again, and this time . . . Maybe it was his fate to end all that suffering in a single action ? But Jack foresaw it after breaking the news if Hannibal's 'death'. 

"Get away from me! Leave!" Will barked, slapping Jack's reaching hand. 

"Will. . . " Jack retreated the hand, placing it on his lap, before letting out a deep sigh. 

"Will, your like a son to me. Your the last family I have . . . After Beverly and Bella's death. You have to understand I can't lose you too." Jack seeped the sorrow in his tone, his eyes glazed with something. . . An indescribable feeling that only one would know at the face of a dead loved one. The thick unbreathable muck stuck in his lungs. That piercing pain, so vivid it can't be erased. 

Everyone who has experienced this knows, it fades, but still has a thick burn that presses the heart every time a memory comes up. To feel so alone, knowing he lost his world, thickly wrapping around him. He can't move. He can't breath. He can't see.

Because that mark has stripped him of the colour of his world. And that pain resonates with Jack, a man buried in regrets, sorrow and loss. But this man would never understand Will's pain. 

"Your living in your own brand of pain, I'm living in mine." Will uttered, looking up at the crooked and chaffing ceiling. 

Silence hung tightly like a noose around the two. The vivid and lucid pain, colliding into a homogeneous entity. 

"I won't kill myself." Will promised, knowing only half of it is true. 

"That's what you said last time!" the older man looked enraged. Snapping his head at Will, pressing his lips tightly in a line. 

"How did you think Hannibal died!" Jack added, pointing an accusatory finger at Will. 

Will's world stopped. He didn't know. He didn't ask. Why hasn't he thought of asking? So many questions spiraled in his mind, but only one came out. 

"How. . ." Ha said more of a statement than a question, finally looking at Jack in the eye. 

"He tried to save you after jumping off a cliff. He protected you. . . He honestly did everything he could to help you till the end. A life for a life. It's not an even trade, if you only want half the life he's given you." Jack uttered feeling his eyes trickle with something so familiar and yet distant. 

He hasn't cried in sixteen years. Not after escaping this hell hole, and yet he's back here, with no recollection of how or why. 

"I didn't come here to fight or make you feel guilty. I'm here to tell you something important." Jack uttered, placing a dossier on the wilted bed. 

"Your new properties." Jack stated without explanation, and left. 

Will reached for it, opening the red manila folder to what seems to be stacks of deeds on top of each other, all named after him. Eleven properties in total were in the folder. Each formerly owned and signed by a familiarly elegant script. Hannibal Lecter.

***

"Why must you insist on pursuing a man that no longer has interest in you?" Bedelia muttered, lifting her cabaret glass to her burgundy tinted lips. She setting it down after a sip. 

She straightened the ripples of her loose cream blouse and brown pencil skirt. The golden ring on her middle finger glistening as she did. 

The glide of her hand smooth and strangely satisfying as the visual medium. The woman looked . . . Appealing tonight, more so with the dimness of the room reflecting upon her skin, illuminating it in a way. 

"You know why." The figure replied, crossing her legs ever so daintily. 

Bedelia scanned the room, plush and yet neutral. Something so sterile about it makes the woman cringe. It was so standard, no personality exuded in any way. 

This is what makes Bedelia appalled at the prospect of seeing the figure again. She knew what tricks lies under the psychiatrist's sleeve. It was overwhelming in a way, that the figure has manually manufactured herself as unreadable. 

"I do believe that we've discussed this. . . I'm surpried that . . . Attachments are factors in our meetings. And to abruptly call me so late, I certainly presumed it was important." Bedelia uttered returning to the wine glass already, feeling herself needing the alcohol in her system, before setting it back to the table top.

The waves of the red wine carefully swayed with the tap of the vibration. Like an echo on water, rippling it into folds.

"I made no such promises. I find Hannibal . . . Unique." The figure replied, mixing her humour with the dryness of her fascination with a certain, supposedly retired assassin.

"Yes. . . 'unique' indeed, cultured, elegant, intelligent and . . . " Bedelia started off before trailing the last adjective in the other's anticipation. 

The moment of silence broke, Bedelia knew the right adjective to convey the right thought, but opted to change it into something innocuous instead. 

"Psychotic." Bedelia ended, as the figure looked pointedly at her. 

"I prefer, mentally and emotionally challenging." The figure's rebuttal, feeling a slight offense from the description.

"He is not the dream man you desire. He is nothing of that sort . . . He is an empty man. His interest never stays and he has no sense of loyalty. May it be to God or anyone that lived long enough to choose to stay by his side. . . You aren't the first person to assume you can . . . Understand his needs." Bedelia uttered harshly. The sepia light of the lounge reflecting upon her glazed eyes. 

"And yet Will Graham is the only exception. No, actually, Will Graham is 'an' exception." the figure added, as she moved down to place a manila envelope, sliding it across the table. Her suit creased at her torso from her slight bend, the coal black colour hiding it's imperfections. 

"Will Graham, is a toy he'll dispose of once he is bored." Bedelia retorted, dismissing the other's correction with little obvious interest. But she knew immediately the other had a plan that was . . . Incomprehensible at the moment.

she wasn't too fond of this . . . Will Graham. She pitied him to an extent in which guilt stained her conscience. 

Will Graham was an outsider. A civilian. A famous one at that, but that doesn't change the fact that the man had no ties with anything related to the underground. 

"Hannibal is seething with anger about what happened to that, toy. . . I don't believe that is normal. He is the exception." The figure uttered, no morsel of sweetness in her words. 

"I don't understand why this man is more important than me?" The woman thought out load, puffing a soft sigh. 

She fixed the collar of her plain white dress shirt, as it came out of its alignment. She then gestured towards the envelope, as Bedelia picked it up. 

"Hannibal was never predictable, taking in warm bodies from both genders. . . But you have to understand your . . . Attachments to the man would be in vain." Bedelia muttered, as she scanned the contents of the item. A frown already marking her face as her eyes landed back to her employer. 

"Impossible Doctor, all I have to do is lay everything out perfectly, and I'll corner him like I did before." The figure uttered, a little deranged in tone.

"Blood isn't always thicker than water." Bedelia commented, already sick of this circling conversation. 

"Yes, well . . . Ingesting peroxide isn't part of the plan." The woman across her replied. 

Bedelia haphazardly threw the contents of the envelope on the table. The pictures scattered on it in their own angled direction. 

"And he'll escape like he did before. Like he always does. He isn't something that settles or can be caged." Bedelia spat, harder than before. 

Her eyes fell hard on a teenage girl in the photos. She had long chestnut hair and lively blue eyes looking up at the man himself. Hannibal. They seemed to be talking, while the teen wondered around in the other photos. 

'Abigail'

A silent cry came from Bedelia's inner breach. The infamous child she has yet to actually meet. She had talked to teen a few times due to . . . Incidents concerning a certain hitman, but to see the actual girl was a different experience. And yet like always, her employer has got to another liability. Another civilian, who has no stain of Hannibal's ways. 

"And yet due to that boy, he is showing me, something akin to chance." The figure uttered now sweetly, her American accent filling the void. 

And that was Bedelia's cue to leave. She pushed her weight off the chair and propelled her body gracefully to the door. No more. She wasn't going to let a child in this. 

"I hope you give me a good word for him." The figure uttered confidently, making Bedelia stop in her tracks. 

"So you knew." The doctor uttered without turning. Her fingers twitching, like it was on a trigger. 

"News travels fast, especially with a body count of twenty six as a trail, it's not hard to put two and two together." The figure uttered, reclining her weight back, as she watched Bedelia closely. 

"How are you so sure it was him." Bedelia tried to salvage the situation, giving the figure a glance. 

"Twenty six bodies from a single vantage point with that level of accuracy? I'd be surprised if anyone comes near that body count at a single shooting."


	14. Chapter 14

A familiar scent, waft in Hannibal's nose. The ebbed smell of Cabernet, ink and lilies seeped across him, masking it in rose perfume far too strong for his liking, but had a peculiar novelty to it.

"As expected, you certainly have a flair like no other." The woman uttered, her slimming gown pressed snuggly against her. 

"But that was to be expected since your being proceeds all standards." Bedelia muttered, with Hannibal escorting her to their seats. Their arms linked in a courteous manner, whilst a few similarly well dressed individuals giving them long passive glances. Their presence garnering attention for their illustrious image of wealth. 

"I have no intention to add the dramatics. It was a necessary step, as you were also a target. " Hannibal replied smoothly, already expecting the deadpanned look that the woman had worn.

As they neared their seats, Bedelia bent down to take it. Her dress ruffled up to an extent, where the shimmer of black and gold sequins illuminated against the dim light. In contrast Hannibal wore a classic tux, bespoken and snug against his figure. A golden watch peeking out of the cuffed sleeve. The cuff links glaring in attention, the artisan style of the scorpion with ruby beaded eyes pulsing. It was befitting of the owner, deadly and majestic. 

"Hannibal, my time is . . . Precious. I do not have time for Operatic events such as this. . . 'He' is starting to wonder why you've been missing in his endeavors. . . The ring master misses his favorite beast. He wants your constant location." Bedelia muttered, as the Aria started to commence. The velvet red curtains drawn in a swift uniform motion on both sides. 

"I find the ambience of the opera, a compelling and adequately solemn event. So much so that my being is in one of the most cultured places of our earth, I have taken the opportunity to . . . Enjoy the prospects." Hannibal uttered softly, as he watched the main lead's introduction, his charm eluded by an elegant white mask to symbolize his hidden image. 

He was to steal the heart of a young Medici girl, that had the beauty like no other, opting to charm her with his song, soft caresses and wit. He procured multiple roses, in various shades of red offering it to the girl.

"You are wanted. You killed the pawns of a very powerful man. I don't play with wars I cannot win. . . " Bedelia started, her body easing more on the chair, as the soprano tone of the Medici girl echoed like white noise. 

"And yet you joined me this evening. . . Saying your unbiased is a folly in itself." Hannibal smirked, looking deviously under his pale lashes. 

"Your. . . Payment, Tobias Budge, is a significant factor of the ensued happenings. . . He was part of our, 'company'. A newcomer to the business. . . He was to say . . . Unstable. He keeps looking for the Chesapeake Ripper, of course your identity being a priority was archived and kept. But the persistence of the man is admirable—" the woman narrated seemingly unconcerned, but was abruptly cut off stiffly. 

"He knows." Hannibal sauntered, sharp eyes landing on her face. A shiver of fear ran through her spine.

'Cold', was all Bedelia could muster, coupled with 'empty'. Hannibal sounded undisturbed in the least, as if he was prepared for this. In all probability it was likely he was. He turned back his attention to the stage, as of nothing said was of importance. 

"He stole the information from our system." Bedelia tried to conceal her chill, putting on a confident façade. 

"I have retired from the organization three years ago, I expected my information to be disposed off by now." Hannibal uttered, crossing his legs perfectly on the ball of his knee. His hands lightly clasping each other, sitting on top of the crossed legs. But still his attention to the opera was maintained to perfection. 

"Yes, but . . . 'He' is still baffled by your existence. 'He' refused to dispose of anything in connection with you. . . 'He' is infatuated." Bedelia muttered contempt in her voice, already oblivious to the happenings of the opera.

"Not to mention 'he' used your occasional . . . 'Contract' with the company, to maintain your information in arms length." Bedelia added her words sinking in her mouth. 

"It seems Tobias wants to . . . Garner your attention by means of divulging your information " Hannibal's head turned slowly. His eyes softened and turned to amusement. 

Bedelia knew enough to know another body was already going to be added on the counter. She didn't think twice at her inner monologue manifesting on her frown, more work would be in her care once more involving the man that sat beside her.

"Another one of your undying fans it seems." The off comment rang in Hannibal's ears, wiping the amusement away. 

"Easily solved. . . I believe everyone needs a friend. On the other hand, what does 'he' want?" The tone in his voice scrutinizing and fickle. 

" 'He' wants you back. 'He' practically following you every step of the way. I think it's better if you come back to the organization." Hannibal remain silent at the statement, the tempting prospects of pushing 'His' identity is appealing. But he knew better than to do so.

But his partner's actions seem to be odd. Her stiff unabashed promotion of taking him back to an organization he has long left, made little sense, knowing full well that the lady would not act without a little . . . Persuasion. She acts will purpose, and being this lost is appalling. 

"Tell me, Bedelia, why is this Tobias Budge your concern exactly? I don't see you as a person who would care so much about my well being." Hannibal uttered, as the soprano lead belted out a lengthy note. 

"That man has something of mine." Hannibal's brow raised in question.

"He killed someone very important to me a long time ago." Then the pieces finally fell into place. 

"Ahh. . . It's him." 

"Yes." 

"And thats all of your concerns, Bedelia?" The man queried.

"I am concerned on . . . The gravity of your attraction to the man that is waiting for you." Bedelia mused, handing Hannibal a piece of paper with 'Ex Nihilo' etched on it. Before standing up, and strutted the carpeted ails, already finishing her duty. She didn't bother to even finish the show, concluding today's arrangements was enough of an excitement for the evening.

After a few minutes Hannibal followed suit, and escaped the vicinity without fail. Opting to go to the bathroom to change.

He entered the bathroom nonchalantly, before bringing out his phone and opening a preinstalled hacking system. Typing in 'Ex Nihilo', all the CCTV cameras were stalled with a 1 minute window. 

Hannibal immediately locked the door, before climbing on edge of the pearlescent sink, pulling on the air vent's bars. There a bag was ready and packed with all the necessities to fulfill the mission. He peeled off his suit jacket and slacks, and opted for something more mobile and unidentifiable. Exchanging the bespoken suit for a black tee and jeans was a massive change. 

Hannibal took his suit jacket and turned it inside out, revealing a leather lining that was designed to be a casual counter part of the suit jacket. 

He wore it effortlessly, timing in at 37 seconds. His window is slowly closing. Hannibal crept out of the vicinity via the fire exit. He could hear the hurried footsteps of the opera's employees trying to check on the cameras.

Now all he needed to do is find this . . . 'Tobias Budge'.


	15. Chapter 15

Blood flowed freely, a distinctly vivid colour of red smeared on the walls as the towering man stood beside his victim. The figure tore the victim's shirt, revealing a pleasantly toned abdomen, with sun kissed skin. Such a pity he had to destroy it, but he has needs, needs that cannot be sated by mere mundane fascinations and activities. He was unique, one of a kind, he told himself. But not anymore. 

He has found a worthy match, a friend of sorts. A man that would surely reciprocate his ideals. Such an intriguing being should find an intriguing counter part to compliment his lacking. And after a long tiresome search he has found it, a monster as terrible and as saturated as him.

Using a gloved finger, he pressed the abdomen of the victim, feeling the start and end of the cavity the ribcage would not interfere. The centre of the chest, undoubtedly soft from the lack of bones, he made his move.

With an acquired scalpel he pressed the sharp blade at the top of the diaphragm, sliding it down to the very bottom of the stomach. Blood didn't gush as expected with the lack of circulation the body had, but the area did clot with the slightly viscous substance. 

The cut in itself looked to be of professional origin, but a true doctor would know this was amateur's play. The uneven pressing of the cut and the slight swerve in the direction declared this, but of course for the untrained public and police it looked as though it was proof of a medical background. All the victims of this man rumoured the killer as such, with their cadavers. 

The figure pulled his sought after viscus organ, still a tad warm from the cushion of the victim's body. The large and small intestine was taken out, collecting it safely in a transparent sterilised plastic bag. 

He placed the sealed item in a leather case, locking its place to avoid spillage. Then he looked back at the body. The victim was beautiful, such a beautiful sacrifice for a 'friend', for his idol to finally notice him. This will be the chance of his declaration of adoration, and he will not make a mistake. 

He took out a picture that was tucked in his navy blue jacket, and laid it down besides the disembowelled body. He peeled off the unwanted epidermic layer, meticulously avoiding all the muscles that was beneath it and draining out all the blood that was left in the body by puncturing small wholes in the major arteries and hanging the body upside down. 

It took hours to prepare the body in solution to slow down the stiffening of the body, after he skinned it. He slowly broke the bones of the victim, contorting them in unnatural angles. He heard every crack of the bone from the body, speedily doing so before rigour mortis started to commence. Even if he can stop the stiffening, he avoided to do so as he followed the picture that laid before him like a manual. 

Breaking only specific bones and bounding it to a certain form. A heart. A medically accurate human heart. The one that Il monstro did more than twenty years ago. 

His paragon was nonpareil, wearing many names that suited him, in all the countries that he has strikes. It was a magnificent show of intellectual power, something he surely did not lack.  

After hours on labour he was done, he looked at it proudly, rigour mortis started to hold the contortions to place. Soon he released the bounds of a rope, revealing postmortem brushings that his untrained eye didn't see. 

He then presented the artful body on the step of the altar, not minding the blood that stained the tiled floor or the possible echoes of people to discover him. He was fearless. 

He left all the things that should be, and walked out of the church leaving nothing that could be traced back to him. Now all that's left is for the right people to be alarmed by the body of the unfortunate young priest.

Tobias exited the vicinity unafraid and no remorse staining his visage. As the sun slowly crept high above him, he waited for a scream to follow the church bells ring.

***

Flowing water echoed around him, pleasantly reminiscent of his childhood. Will whipped the rod back and forwarded it, making the string flick forward. The scent of pines and earth padded him, as a familiar ghostly man stood by him. He had no physical body, he was a voice that constantly stayed in Will's tempest mind. 

His worn overalls drenched to the knees, which it met the even waters. His eyes followed an eagle that passed only to land on a branch of pine. The bird squawked at the man, as if demanding privacy. It threateningly raised its wings ready to charge. 

But his head turned, snapping in another direction as if hearing a much more formidable predator coming closer, ready to pounce at any moment. The eagle flew to another direction, making Will stare back at the pine. His eyes scanned the west landscape, where the eagle retreated from. And there his eyes met a large stag. 

Doe eyes inviting and kind any yet it hailed on a threatening magnificence. He was a predator. He will kill. He was not a bounty. The stag's antlers spread wide, reaching ends in the unsymmetrical beauty of the vine like grove. 

"Where is Hannibal?" Will uttered in the verbal sanctuary of the stream, the loud noises muffling the presence behind him. 

And with that the stag turned away, as if stating what he needed and nothing more. Such an ardent similarity presented itself with the man, that was Will's intended. 

"Far away, in the other side." The voice answered, clear and unamused. Voice awfully familiar to the man he was seeking, Hannibal. 

"When will I reach it?" The younger man queried, pleasantly at ease with the familiar river. Where the rocks piled in tones of grey, brown and mossy greens. Trout abundant and brimming with life. Scales gleaming back at the man's eyes. Everything marking nostalgia, and a haunting past that was better eternally veiled. 

"How long do we have to wait here Will?" The fatherly voice countered the question, shifting the voice in a slightly higher baritone. As it suddenly emerged from behind him, much more closer, then he felt the presence create a body for himself. A tangible one that Will felt were stepping closer to him. Oddly enough it did not startle his stance or patience. 

"As long as it takes." Will replied, as the clear water of the river reflected his visage. Young and innocent, such a foreign look upon him. Then another visage dawned beside him, a familiar face of a friend and the head of his security.

"The decision is yours." The voice finished, it was a bellowing voice familiar and warm whispered in to his right ear. Proclaiming he was the conscience that Will lacked. 

The voice disappeared, and so did Jack's reflection. Causing the water to ripple at his sudden turn to look for the man, but his friend was gone. 

"Will, you have to wake up. . ." Jack's voice sound further and further away. Sounding distantly calm, coaxing for a nudge. 

Will fell into the river, not hitting the bedrock. Just a continued sensation of drowning. He could barely move, breath or think. He froze. 

 

Sinking. 

 

Down. 

 

Suffocating.

 

The sense of falling continued, encapsulated Will. The vast thick viscous feeling enveloping him, until he finally landed. An ache enveloped his body, stiffness of every fiber, pulsing through. His let out a croak, which was supposedly a scream, but the dryness of his throat prevented him from pursuing the endeavor. 

His eyes shot open, as he felt the strain of his prolonged sleep dawn upon him. He looked up to see an appealing ceiling, a little chandelier hung down, indicating his leave from Virginia. 

He heard the muffled beeps that seemed to speed at the first conceivable thought that came across him. Is this the other side? Did he finally arrived? He couldn't say. His mind was in shambles, and memories or dreams faded with ever second. Ticking slowly in mockery. 

"Where is Hannibal?" He repeated, as nurses tried to calm him down. Will started to struggle, flailing his aching arms to avoid the touches of the strangers. He was scared, alone in an unknown place. 

He repeated his question over and over, refusing every help he was surrounded with. His breath laboured and sweat peaked, he was surrounded by people in white.


	16. Chapter 16

"He is awake." Bedelia uttered, looking as nonchalant as ever. She served a Zinfandel to her guest, who happily obliged. The guest twirled the drink, deeming it's quality and the full body of the dry drink. It's taste edging on the fruity side, and like most full bodied wines it paired well with their current meal, red meat.

"Satisfied?" Bedelia queried, indicating the food instead of the sudden news.

"Yes, a very pleasing choice, Bedelia." Hannibal said from across the table. The steak was tender, well seasoned but disappointingly dry. The man took note of it, feeling a surge of arrogance in comparison to his own dishes. 

Never the less, the pairing of the two was incredibly satisfying. Even if the imbalance of taste lies in the dryness of the meat. 

"Well?" Bedelia uttered in addition, impatiently waiting for his reaction to the aforementioned news. 

"I am well aware of it." Hannibal uttered, as he sipped the wine once again, not bothering to spare even a simple surprised glance at the woman. 

". . .  you plan on staying here instead of going back to see your dear little toy on his feet. . ." Bedelia looked more puzzled than before, even if her tone seemed to point to the absolute. . . She could never understand what the man was after. 

He was a nature of humanity far more advanced and yet instinctually primal. He lived above all philosophies, that painted humanity's renaissance, but craved something more primal. Primal, being the complexity that drives the man to all ends and find, no satisfaction in pouring all efforts in a search for a metaphorical ending. It was a terrifying drive. Empty, as it may be. 

One could say he was the idealistic philosopher. Who choses which brings him more joy than not. He was never in it for the money, it was about power and game. He was a god that held life in his hands, his choice would affect a mass of people. 

". . . He isn't my toy. . . A mere passing fancy is more in tune." Hannibal succumbed to her words, taking the woman by surprise. . . Hannibal defended the previously comatose man in a simple play on words. 

'Intriguing.' The woman thought, giving herself the liberty to a small smile. Yes, interesting indeed. 

"A passing fancy that 'he' is intimidated enough to hold close. . . 'He' is gathering all that is to know about your . . . Fancy." Bedelia said careful with her words. 

"Bedelia lets not pretend that I don't know the identity of this . . . 'He'." Hannibal spoke, Bedelia paused for a moment. Her back was turned, as she contemplated on what to say. And yet, there is nothing to be said. Internally she knew, and didn't say anything further than what needed to be said. Now it isn't her burden anymore. 

"You—" she was going to state the fact to be sure. She didn't want to make the same mistake of being played like before. Years have passed, and yet, the mental and physical scars still numbly burn on her skin. 

"Yes. Now, let me reiterate what I have said, I do know the identity of 'him'. Better yet, 'her'." Hannibal said, laying the sterling silver utensils down on the velvet coloured table cloth. She pursed her lips in retaliation, sliding her hand carefully to the knife that laid before her.

She didn't partake in the dining itself, but she set the table in such a way that she had the same utensils as her guest, knives and prongs included. 

She grasped the silver, cold against her grip. The tension was high and the atmosphere suffocating.

"How did you—" Bedelia stopped herself, patting every reachable surface of her body. But feeling nothing out of the ordinary. 

"Bedelia, you wound me. You look far, against my capabilities." The man said, as he sipped the drink. 

"Then why did you bring me into your little scheme?" The woman said looking like her nonchalant mask is continually fading. She was once again played. 

"To test your loyalty, I am impressed on which side you chose." Hannibal spoke with a wit and snide tone. A smirk masques his feature, playing well against his sharp foreign features. 

"I didn't choose anyone." Bedelia spoke, finally finding her confidence back. 

"I believe you have." Hannibal spoke raising from his seat, moving across to meet the woman's figure. He carded his hand through the blonde locks. As futile as it may be, she tightened the feel of the metal in her hand, ready to attack. To break. To fight. 

But instead an audible gasp escaped Bedelia's lips, as Hannibal plucked a hard minuscule object from it. Before he sat down back in his seat a smug smile on his face.

This was the most emotions Bedelia as seen on Hannibal's visage that was not forged. It was all taunting and vile, deceiving and the antonym of his docile and yet confident actions. 

Hannibal laid the chip carelessly on the table, making the candlelight reflect its plastic bearings. Its wires and little circuit clear even in the dim lit place. 

"You bugged me." She said, a-matter-of-fact. Pressing the spot when the bug was taken. 

"On the contrary 'she' was the one who spied on our little rendezvous." In his own fashion, Hannibal took his knife and accurately stab the tiny target in the dim lit setting, an impressive feat. 

The chip was crushed, making Bedelia feel a relaxation wash over her. She gave a long sigh and downed her drink, taking in all the red substance.

"Since when have you known about 'Her'? Or the fact that 'He' isn't exactly gifted with male genitalia?" 

"That mission in Kiev really hinted at who she really is." The assassin said, nonchalantly, as he watched the other's reaction. 

"Why didn't you tell me you knew for the past five years?!" 

"Well, I think you know why. . ." The assassin glared menacingly at the woman. 

A sudden silence took over once more. The heavy scent of alcohol now in the air. 

"how long?" Bedelia uttered, sparing them of any explanation of how it got there. For a fact, she had a few ideas, making it so that it was in fact plausible, but the protruding mystery is the fact that Hannibal noticed it. 

"How long has she been bugging me?" 

"From the time I landed here in Italy."  He replies nonchalantly, making it all more impressive. 

"And this fact, is significant now?"  Bedelia uttered, pinning his revelations concerning 'her' identity.

"To keep 'her' in line." The man replied, already reaching for his coat. He had done all that was needed, and hadn't planned on extending his stay more than necessary. 

"As to not harass you?" Bedelia queried, seeing as the man has become of genuine interest in her field. 

"As to not harm my fancy." Another surprising remark. 

'Reckless', the woman thought, preening with what seemed to be fascination. He was exhibiting human tendencies, that were not solely manufactured to fit in a certain mold. 

It was a peek into what monster was under that perfect mask. A reckless, calculating monster. 

"You know that is in fact, a lost cause." Bedelia deemed the situation, futile. 

"That has never stopped me before." Hannibal uttered amused, staring mischievously at the woman. 

"That's what concerns me. . . You are not invincible, Hannibal. One day you will die—" Bedelia uttered her piece, looking blankly at the man across from her. 

"And I'm sure you would look lovely in black." Hannibal commented, more sarcastic than not. 

"Because I will be the only one to know. And with that young man, your death in drawing closer than before. . . You have escaped death more times than anyone. Your demise will be brought on by that boy." The woman uttered, aiming at all that she can cover. 

"That is the point Bedelia, all things end with me." The other muttered. Bedelia didn't know how to reply to that monologue. But it was true, all things end with him.

"Do you plan on ever going back? That young man will find a way to you." Bedelia stirred away, from the small glimpse of chaotic organization that was Hannibal's mind. 

The woman would describe it as a library sullied with red. Every knowledge expanded to the ends of infinite space, but end with his personas. All so vile and mechanical. In human, in other terms.

"That's why I am here specifically." Was all Hannibal replied with before slipping on his coat and leaving without sparing anymore pleasantries.


	17. Chapter 17

"Where do you think your going?!" Jack shouted, blocking the french doors. 

His body hurled to wedge the exit enough to halt Will's persistent attempt to escape. Its only been two weeks since he regained consciousness, he was still deemed unstable for travel but not enough to ditch work.

Will felt a wave of exasperation fell on him. He was tired, with the medication and exhaustion of his body constantly creeping in and hold him. His constant puppet to these made him frantic and slightly irrational, but desperation was a much more powerful motivator.

"Nowhere that concerns you." Will replied, fixing his coat, bringing nothing but a plane ticket and his wallet, he was set. 

"Don't joke yourself Will, the company needs you. You need to rest too! For the first time in your God damn life, listen to me!" Jack shouted, louder than before as Will pushed passed him. It was weak, but enough to move the bolder of a body that Jack had in comparison to his. 

Beverly watched on, not speaking a word. She pretended to do work but opted not to, as the situation felt like it would escalate to something that shouldn't happen to a patient. She stood up not interfering, but watch closely to break up the fight when needed.

In all honesty she agrees with Jack. All of Will's close friends knew, where exactly he was going. It wasn't a secret how attached Will was to the man that left him for Europe, but it was surprising how desperate Will was from the moment he finally opened his eyes. 

No one said anything, but it was already an open secret. And from Beverly's point of view, the man reciprocated. Why he left was still a mystery, but for most, he just couldn't take seeing Will lying in a pool of his own blood. At least that was the most rational explanation. 

"You've handled the company well enough while I was out. I think you can handle it a little longer." Will uttered, already riding the elevator down, to be received by a car that waited for him below. 

Jack clutched the elevator open, making the machine refuse to move, even with Will's constant pressing of the close button, in an attempt to move past his head security.

"Will! Listen to me! Hannibal is gone! He needed space! The man just saw you get shot, tried to resuscitate you and saved your life! Lets face it, all this mess is your fault!" There was a beat to silence. Will stopped his attempts and stared harshly at the man before him. 

Will felt a familiar rage in him, something he was kept for years. He was always looked on differently, even as a child. In the eyes of the others, he was always wrong. He was always replaceable. Always someone from the sidelines, being a secondary or tertiary character in their lives, sometimes even in his own. 

He thought that one day, someone will stop blaming him for things he can't control. He thought that his friend, a father figure and caretaker would understand. He was apparently wrong. Again. 

"Wai—no, that's not what I mean! Will!" Jack immediately contemplated on his words, he didn't mean what he said. He wasn't thinking straight, and everything was going downhill. Everything he was saying was wrong, even in his ears. 

Will pushed pass him. Entering his office, to reach his private room. Will sat down on his settee, feeling his knees give out. He started to hyperventilate, as cold sweat prickled down his skin. 

He knew it was a futile attempt, he was straining his body far too much with his movements. He felt the world being eaten by a black void, but he persisted. 

"Jack, I — have lived twenty five years with— out you— I can make my own decisions! And — god damn it I will!" Will uttered, in between deep breaths. Struggling to catch them. 

He suddenly hears sounds from behind him, an oxygen mask appeared and was instantly put on him. He didn't notice it till then, he gave a small turn of the neck to see Beverly has worked her part amidst all these constant arguments. 

"Will, you have to hear me out! Stay!" Jack said again, but Will was tired, he doesn't have the strength to move much anymore. The medications slowly kicked in as well, fighting it with all that he can muster.

"If I stay—you have to leave. I —don't want to see your face around here for— a while." Will uttered slowly, but gradually getting steadier. 

"Will—" Jack tried to explain his side, but the younger man has had enough.

"Don't! — Just — don't! I don't want to hear your — excuses or reasons! I — want to be alone!" Will uttered, clutching the mask tighter to push it forward, breathing in. 

"Ok. . . Will, I'm sorry." Jack uttered, before strutting out of the office, with Beverly following behind. 

"I know." Will whispered more to himself than anyone else. He knew how important he was to Jack, but he didn't need that at the moment. And most certainly he did not need a babysitter. He was fine, he didn't need anybody. All he needed was Hannibal, the man has to be ok. 

"Jack, I think you better go. If you two continue on like this, his trip won't kill him. You will." Beverly whispered, as she led Jack out to the elevator. Immense guilt plagued his expression. He was breaking an already broken man, that was the worst thing anyone can do to others, much more when the 'others' he was pertaining to was a son figure in his life. 

Jack contemplated his actions, even Bella couldn't fix his mood at the moment. He was stupid not to think of the consequences of what every word meant to Will.

The young man was more broken inside than what he shows. Jack knew he couldn't sleep, eat or do anything 'normal' people do. His only solace was his dogs, that he couldn't see due to his current conditions. 

Jack knew about the boy's rigid past. Yes, Will was born to riches, but that didn't guarantee a happy childhood. Everything a child shouldn't experience, Will had to go through. Neglect and physical abusing being the alternating forms of harm that was put on the youth. 

That night in his state of self loathing, Jack's phone rang tirelessly until he succumbed to the bothersome rings. He wasn't the the particular mood to deal with anything, until strictly necessary. 

He fished his phone, and answered, not bothering for any greetings or pleasantries. Without saying a word, a frantic female voice echoed through the line.

"Jack, he's gone!" Three words he hoped was a lie.


	18. Chapter 18

"Welcome Mr. Graham! I my name is Maria Christina Salvador, I am here to pick you up. I hope your flight was comfortable." A woman, in her late thirties greeted the man. Her accent was lively and clear, but every syllable in her speech was avidly audible. 

"It was . . . Alright. I hope you didn't mind the short notice." Will said, as they entered a sleek red Ferrari. 

Will didn't give a double take at the car, and just plainly settled in unfazed. He took a glance at the surroundings and bustling people and crowded places littered his view. He wondered how the woman manoeuvred the car in such a limited space, but guessing by her ease, it was all a daily routine. 

"Not at all sir, yes, we were surprised as it is in fact your first visit to the Italian branch, but we were happy to give you our best accommodations and services. I hope the state of the branch is to your liking." She said, her pink lips stretching for a professional smile. 

This caught Will's attention, he played her voice into his head. She didn't ask about the abruptness of his trip or the fact that he brought no luggage, she just stayed clear from any implications that may avert to anything rude. Good.

She also didn't comment on the fact that he was just recently release from the hospital. Which is far more comforting fact than anything else.

He didn't want to be looked upon with pity or discomfort, from the fact that he is, or better yet was in a comatose state.

Everyone has changed since the incident. Everyone moved like he was fragile and would shatter at any moment. He wasn't glass, he wasn't a flower easily pick or an ant that would easily yield to every type of harm. 

"That won't be much of a problem, actually I'm here for a visit. I just happened to remember to inspect the hotel here while I'm at it." He said as casually as possible, glancing at the girl beside him.

She was . . . Pretty. Above average and slender in a model-esque way. She had chestnut locks and piercing arctic blue eyes. Which balanced her smooth tan skin and long limbs. Her black tight Givenchy pencil skirt and rosewood ruffled top draped her body just right. She could be called gorgeous or ephemeral, but he has seen and bedded woman far more beautiful than her. Money can buy almost everything after all. 

It wasn't a far fetched idea that he liked both sexes. Beauty has no boundaries after all. Some unique and some common, but in conclusion beauty comes in all forms. In some cases, there are beauties that you wish to keep, to look at but never touch. In most, you wish to ravish them and make them wilt and melt at your very heat. Will found that the woman was part of the former, better to look at than to hold in his case. 

"Sir, if you may let me know, who exactly are you visiting?" She spoke again, probably noticing the man's blank stare. 

She had this hopeful look on her face. Of course the prospect of bedding a millionaire is quite the catch. Especially since the millionaire was quite attractive to boot. Unfortunately for her, Will was currently preoccupied with another, more specifically his bodyguard who fled to this country. 

"A friend. " Will didn't elaborate further. It wasn't her business to know, nor was he in the mood to talk.

Her pretty face seemed to be swept with a disappointed expression, as Will preferred sleep than ogling her figure. But she didn't say anything more, as it was never her place to say so. 

Christina pulled up, as they arrived in 'Las Casa', a hotel owned by Graham corporation. It was a five star hotel, lined with velvet carpets and rococo designs befitting the renaissance inspired block that it was built upon. Personally Will wasn't much of a fan of elaborate designs, as he was a minimalist in nature. And yet, the dome architecture and designs of the lobby baffled him in amazement. It was beautiful, befitting of the upscale scenery it had. 

"This way please, Mr. Graham." Christina said leading the man inside the hotel, where a parallel line of employees greeted him in an obviously practiced way.

"Welcome Mr. Graham, we are happy you could be with us today." An old man said, who was situated at the end of one of the parallel lines of people, presumably the manager. 

"Like wise." That was his only reply, as he saw people, other customers watching him. 

He felt his skin creep with the attention, this is exactly why he avoids visiting his establishments. It always ends with people staring at him, which at the moment is not a comfortable idea. 

Will politely shook the man's hand, who he found out was named 'Alonzo Santiago', the current manager of the hotel. They exchange pleasantries, before the man lead Will to the penthouse of the hotel. 

"If you need anything, please call me." Alonzo says, leaving with a plastered smile. 

Will flopped on plush bed of the apartment suite. It was . . . What he expected from any hotel he has stayed in. A good, if not astounding view, a master's bedroom, a living room, and two guest bedrooms, each with their own bathrooms. 

But it was slightly more luxurious than the other, probably pointing to the fact that the luxury was his to bare, as everything in the building that wasn't alive was his. 

The balcony had a one eighty view of the Italian scenery. All entrances were draped with burgundy curtains and the floor was a masterpiece. It was a mosaic of a peacock, its body lying in the living room, the center of the whole suite. Its feathers extended to the other rooms. 

The bathrooms were lined with replicas of Italian frescos of certain artful relics. It also had a large jacuzzi and bathtub that had enough space to fit three people. Every metal surface was polished and gold leafed. 

At the other side of the balcony offered a private pool, that can occupy at least twenty five people. Its tiles decorated the bottom of the dip, in such a way that replicates the mix of midnight blue to the turquoise of the peacock. 

The bed he was on felt soft and utterly divine. The silk touched his skin like a feather and the pillows sunk in to catch the curve, of his skull. Using the adjective 'beautiful' and 'luxurious' was shortsighted terms to describe its true beauty. 

But he was too tired to appreciate the art of his surroundings. His body sulked in its own curving to succumb to sleep, his body being caught by the sheets ever so softly tangling in a ripple by his body. He knew he shouldn't move so much and he knew his physical therapy hasn't been fully accomplished yet, but he didn't care. He was after all a desperate man, and desperation is the ultimate motivator for all of humanity. 

He didn't even know why he is going all lengths and ends, to find a man that preferred to not be found. He didn't know why desperation plunged him to try to find him. . . This was a rare feeling, whatever it was, but he refused to name it.


	19. Chapter 19

"Hannibal." Bedelia called the other's attention as she threw a dossier carelessly on the table. Then she moved further from the desk, opting to stand by the door way. 

Hannibal unamused by the ungrateful action, took it and opened it with a delicate gesture. He frowned, glaring back at Bedelia. Hannibal didn't speak, he just kept his gaze fixated on the figure before him. 

The dossier held pictures and a police report of a mangled body. Limbs broken in more than a hundred pieces to copy that of an anatomical heart. Hannibal's heart. 

The one he did more than a two decades ago. He was fascinated with the capabilities of the human body. How they bend, break and change to another form of matter with just tampering and variables. 

Then he found his longest occupation, it suffices his urges for physical and mental stimulation. Added with the thrill of power and the game of murder. It isn't hard to see why he stayed with such an atrocious profession. 

"Your work?" Bedelia asked, leaning against the doorframe, the dark blood red chiffon dressing gown ruffling at the point of contact with the wood. It hugged her body so perfectly, some would call it a sin. A paling elongated scar still sits on her left shoulder, adding a sense of mystery to the woman.

"No, the killer is untrained and sloppy. And I am sure you knew that already." The man replied unfazed as ever, culminating the talk in the study. He turned to poise himself and face the woman in her glory. 

Hannibal pushed the file and pointed at a picture that showed more than a few rigged cuts, that a professional won't make the mistake of doing. The sewing of the body isn't the most amiable either, but it was enough to get the correlation of his previous murders and this one. 

"I am well aware. I was trying to coax something of an reaction from you. Obviously I failed." Bedelia uttered, shifting the scotch on the rocks, letting the round ice slowly melt. 

"It seems your 'fans' are all gathering here. I think it would be smart to leave this country now." She added, downing it before reaching for the bottle on the wooden stand just a feet away from her. 

"Are you trying to stray me away from our deal?" Hannibal smirked, curious.

"Your the one who hired me to dispose of this 'fan', why the change of heart?" He added, as he gracefully crossed his legs as he seated himself on the upholstered settee. 

"Not exactly a change of heart, more of a shift in priorities. . . Your toy . . . He is here. He is vulnerable and out in the open, 'She' would surely try something sooner or later. So I advice you to take him and leave the country."

". . . But you won't do that will you?" She added, knowing full well the answer. But the verbal confirmation would always out way all else. 

"I adhere more to myself." Hannibal uttered, taking a glass from the tray and pouring a drink for himself. 

The twenty five year old scotch stung and burned in just the right way, the taste smoky and leaving an ash decent upon the palette. It wasn't terrible, but it lacked the grace wine had. 

It was a beverage better paired with a meal, than an occasional habit. But today was different, today was a solemn celebration. Today was another hit for the ex-assassin, he took out a large number of Martinez members from their vantage point. But both of them didn't mention that fact, it was already known to both of them and that was all it was. A simple, undeniable fact. 

"I believe in that fact, more than I believe in God." She snidely commented, looking quite frustrated by that fact alone. 

"Hannibal, how long so you plan on hiding from a man that is literally only a floor above yours?" Bedelia muttered, shifting the subject to focus on the source of the real problem. 

"Until I finish my business here." He said simply, queuing her to move to the main point. 

"Hannibal, you have to understand, the Martinez family, the organization and Tobias Budge are all after your head. So if you want to keep it, I suggest you use it." She uttered, clutching the glass, her grasp tightening at the fact. 

She will not escape this alive. . . At least not without Hannibal, she knew that. With him, she was safe and in danger at the same time. All odds only led to death, but the slight chance that it won't, the woman will take. Her chance was the man before her, and it is fleeting with the fact that he is blinded by a boy half his age, who doesn't know when to stay away. 

"I am. I know what I'm doing Bedelia." Hannibal sipped his drink, setting it down precariously on the stand. 

"Hannibal, you alone can't protect that boy from danger if he's here!" She uttered, all truth, the man knew that.

"So what is your plan for baiting the boy here?" She added, immensely frustrated at another unexpected hitch in her plans. Hannibal didn't speak, the answer to that question was not her concern but his alone. Hannibal stared the the condensing drink, moisture dripping down the glass to the redwood. 

"Hannibal look at me. . . " Bedelia couldn't stand his persistence in keeping her oblivious to his movements. This was enough. She reached for Hannibal's face and snapped it to face her, keeping his eyes locked on her. Hannibal's hand reached for her's, waiting for the threat to appear, but none did. 

"If you plan to protect him, I suggest you do it now. Or else I'll be forced to keep him, just to see what's so good about him." Bedelia uttered, leaving to enter her room. The door slammed shut, making the sound echo in the suite, leaving him to contemplate what move he should do first.

***

Will sank into the heat of the water. His curls pulled back as he felt the porcelain of bath tub, touch his shoulders. Resting his head on a side.

Today was another failed attempt to find Hannibal. Its been three days and no progress has been made. All he knew was the man was in Italy, and that was all. He didn't know what else to do. He'd called up an investigator to find him, and no luck came up.

He did find out that the man was basically a ghost. And there were no records that alarmed the Italian immigration of his appearance in the country. There was the possibility that he wasn't even here, but 'Italy' was the only clue he had. He'd take his chances no matter how small it was. 

His health wasn't helping either, he was getting attacks of epileptic shocks, seizures and his lungs always felt like they were lacking oxygen. 

Even so, he hid it from anyone and everyone that approached and knew him. He contemplated on whether to finally alarm Jack or Beverly of his whereabouts, but opted against it. He had enough of people treating him like damaged goods, and prefer to handle it on his own. 

That was his identity, damaged, alone and weak. That was all he saw in the mirror, and that was what other people saw too. He hated that fact more than anything. 

His eyes wondered around the reflective shine of the bathroom. All so well kept and new. The frescos were beautiful and the mixture of classical and modern elements was tasteful.

As he did so, his eyes felt heavy. Dragging his lids down to settle in sleep, he tried to fight it. As a blurry figure reflected on the mirror that was perpendicular to him. He couldn't see the face, but was assured it was a male, just by assessing the stature and how the stranger's shoulders leaned back to appear larger than he really is. 

Will felt that he should be alarmed by the presence, but his body said other wise, falling unconscious in that very instant. Making his body sink down the water, as his head suddenly dropped to the side dragging his unconscious body with him. 

He knew he couldn't breath. He knew he was going to die then, with no one knowing. But he didn't care. His body wouldn't obey him and his mind was already shutting down. He was ready to die.


	20. Chapter 20

Hannibal walked in the room, slipping through all the security without batting an eye. It was more than a little convenient. 

He entered the room, noting its extravagance, admiring the delicate architecture and design. He surveyed the room, standing still in the middle of it, and shutting his eyes. 

Immediately he picked up the unnatural sounds that were scattered along the suite. He cautiously plucked each and everyone of the bugs, before destroying them. 

All in all sixteen were found, each well hidden if not for his training and instinct. He knew who planted them, and silently fumed at the mere idea. But his face remained still and composed as ever, not even an inch of emotion plaguing his expression. 

He roamed the suite taking in the quietness of it, and yet he knew the presence he so dearly held was there. He padded quietly to the only door he hasn't inspected. 

He slowly opened it to reveal a man, the back of his head glistened with wet curly locks. He was faced in the direction of the wall, staring blankly at it. 

Hannibal admired the back that was in his view. It had little freckles that marked his back into constellations. The curls of the chestnut hair straightened with its dampness pulling the locks down a little, but bits of dryness made some curls visible. 

The head moved from side to side, before it snapped to the mirror. Hannibal looked at it and saw his own reflection. He was spotted. But he didn't move, opting to watch why the man before him didn't move up to face him. 

Suddenly the body he was observing, sank down. Slipping on the smooth porcelain curve of the tub, the water cover will from head to toe. And immediately Hannibal crept in.  Just from observing him, something was wrong with the man. The sudden jerk of his body down wasn't normal, if he really intended to sink himself in. 

Hannibal immediately pulled the man out if the water, as he started to convulse from lack of oxygen. 

He laid the Will down in the flat tiles and started to do his work. He performed CPR, trying to take out the water from his body. And yet, still he wasn't responding. 

He put a hand near his nose and he wasn't breathing. His heart rate was weakening as well. Will was dying. But Hannibal was determined to save him. Only him.

A sudden pounding of adrenaline ran silently through Hannibal, and immediately he moved to preform all the life saving methods he could do in the given situation, until finally a choking sound alarmed him of his victory. 

Will's eyes cracked open slightly, giving Hannibal a glazed look, far too tired and heavy to keep, before fainting once again with the security that he will in fact live. 

"Not the reunion I planned." Hannibal muttered to himself, folding the wet sleeves of his dress shirt as he retrieved a towel. 

He wiped the man dry and picked him up to tuck into bed. He moved the single chestnut lock off of Will's face, tucking it with the others. His fingers trace the skin on Will's shoulder connecting the constellations in order, Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, Orion and pegasus. His skin was still as smooth as he remembers, but the feeling was different. 

Hannibal stood up and gazed at the man from afar. He was unpleased with what he saw. Will looked thin, unshaven, and weak. He was light when the bodyguard carried him, his ribs were visible and he seemed to lack sleep as well, indicated by the dark circles that marked around his eyes. His breathing seems to be slow and weak as well, indicating there was more damage internally than external.

He saw the scar from the bullet healed. But the uneven skin marked the event, making him glare, blood boiling for revenge. No one harms this one. No one but him. The possessive impulse was gnawing on him, this man was his to keep and he intended to do so. 

Hannibal lifted Will's unconscious hand to his lips, but not enough to touch. He whispered inaudible praises and comforts in Lithuanian, before pressing a kiss on it. 

And right now all he wanted to do was mend his broken fancy.

***

The unnatural sound of life echoed through the room. The soft sounds of clanking metal took center stage in Will's mind. . . Mind? He, himself wasn't sure anymore. 

He was in a constant state between hallucinations and reality after waking up from his prolonged sleep. His mind always racing with the thought that maybe the real reality was the one that he left behind. The one in which Hannibal was dead, and the reason was his impulsive stupidity. . . Maybe Jack was right, and all this was triggered by one impulsive move? 

He hated sleep. . . Sleep reflected on the fact that his reality might be false. Sleep brings him back to his vegetive state. Where his mind was the universe and his fears were the gods, tormenting him.

Will mustered all his strength in opening his eyes, the heavy drowsy feeling tried to take control but failed. The blurry visage was reminiscent of his own awakening in the hospital. But this time a more appealing vantage was surrounding him.

Victorian wallpaper, slightly embosed. Antique vases filled with white lilies stood at their own designated place, standing proudly. The antique furnishings leveled up the white and gold rococo designs, each a sign of pure luxury, something no mundane person could afford. 

Will slowly sat up, feeling the protests of his body. The ache it had was that of a stiffness of his body, he felt every nerve pulsate, calling him to steady. 

He felt the chilly air brush against his pale bare skin. Noticing he was truly bare off all garments, Will pulled the white bed sheet to cover and warm his figure. The sheet creased and folded in some spots as it draped loosely on his thin frame, only being held together by a shambled knot.

Will slowly swung his legs at the side of the bed, trying to stand by supporting himself with the wooden pole of the canopy bed. And yet his legs wouldn't cooperate with him, choosing to fall abruptly just as he mustered his strength to finally stand on his own. 

The constant clicking sound was still there making him wonder to what extent has his insanity has conquered. It was a scary thought, he was loosing in a silent war against himself.

"I hope you don't intent to stay there for long." A familiarly sarcastic voice remarked.

Will's eyes snapped up, only realizing the blank stare he bore on the wall. The figure was jarring, in a sense. The familiar posture and form of the man he was looking for, as well as the familiar black and maroon three piece suit stared back at him.

"I—" The younger man's voice cracked, thick and painfully dry on his throat. He stopped speaking, choosing to press his fingers on the spot on his throat that ached.

Without saying another word, Hannibal moved forward. Reaching out to Will picking him up and placing him on the bed. 

Hannibal again, took notice of the fact that Will felt lighter than their previous encounters. He already knew that he was in terrible shape, but he wasn't sure to what extent. He made a note to examine the man after feeding him.

Hannibal fetched water for the younger man to drink. Will downed it without any protests, before setting the glass at the bed side table.

"how did you—" Will started, regaining his voice, but Hannibal cut him off.

"I would prefer it if we conversed after you have eaten." Hannibal uttered, fixing the white sheet on Will's form.

"I can't—" Will was about to protest. He was not in the mood to move or even eat. He was weak and would prefer to stay where he was. 

Hannibal took a moment to look at Will, before he lifted the younger man effortlessly, carrying him to the dining area. Will was too weak to struggle, and just sank in the the larger warm body of the European.

With a dazed look, Will questioned if this was reality. The way Hannibal gracefully served the younger man was far too aesthetically pleasing to be real. Not to mention the presence of the man himself was already an enigma. Why he was here with him, he didn't know, nor does he care at the moment.

Will idly nibbled on the presented food, a normal breakfast that was . . . To say, unexpected of Hannibal's extravagance.  It was a simple put together meal, obviously of Italian influence. 

It was ill fitting for Hannibal to serve such simplicity. But, as the current situation requires it, he served it to fill the lack of weight his company had. A simple seafood pesto pasta and bread served beside a small slab of unsalted butter. Of course, this menu was not Hannibal's handiwork, as everything was ordered via room service, so of course there was a lot of room for error execution wise. It was an evidently silent affair, with neither saying more than what should be said, awkward pleasantries and alike.

Will never thought this through. All he wanted was to find the numbing part of him. Filling that certain empty feeling to create a whole. He never expected that he would actually succeed. 

"How did you find me?" The younger man finally spoke, veering out of their solemn flow.

"It was simple . . . The technicalities  aren't one of your concerns." Hannibal said, not missing a beat, it was neither a lie nor the truth. A vague answer that would leave all and nothing about the speaker's intent. The young millionaire must have forgotten the tracking device still within him. 

"But how did you even know where I was exactly ?!" Will spoke an octave higher, feeling confusion, relief and an unsettling amount of happiness buskering in his mind. 

It was confusing to know nothing and yet feel so complete. The older man's blood was not on his hands anymore. They stopped staining them the moment his eyes set on Hannibal. And yet an overwhelming linger of fear reeked in. His constant war with the 'true' reality, still brewing. 

Hannibal's eyes were obviously fixated on Will. Accounting all the new creases and colours that were amiss amongst his pleasing aesthetic of his visage. The invading panic on and off at every moment, the healing scar on his cheek, even Will's short weak inhales the doctor observed. Everything about this man was broken in so many ways he didn't know how to mend it anymore. 

"I will always find you." Hannibal replied, placing a steady hand on Will's shoulder. Meaning more to Will than it should.


	21. Chapter 21

"Bedelia Du Maurier, pleasure to finally meet you." The woman cocked a brow in curiosity as she offered her hand.

Will assessed the woman silently. She was slightly aged, mid thirties to late forties to be precise. Long fair hair with streaks of white almost unnoticeable, if it weren't for the rich colour of golden that contrasted it. 

She wore a long sleeved silk blouse in the colour of beige. Whilst pairing it with dark grey pencil skirt and polished closed toed stiletto heels. She stood a few inches shorter than Will, but her presence was strong and unnerving. Giving an air of confidence, danger and vulnerability . . . an odd combination. 

"Will Graham, likewise." The man reached the refined hand, putting in a moderate grip.

A beat of silence thrummed through the two, like an unnamed electric tension. Bedelia, the sly woman that she is, raked through the entirety of Will without much thought about rudeness, to the internal dismay of Hannibal. 

He wasn't as aesthetically pleasing as what was described in the intel she acquired. Pale, deep set eyes with dark circles marking the edge, unkept hair and facial hair, a slightly underweighted appearance. It baffled her how Hannibal found this attractive, the young millionaire was the antipodal of the mercenary's finer tastes.

"I know who you are. Your—" she uttered, a smirk marking her lips. Bedelia had nothing against the young millionaire, but making Hannibal uncomfortable about her marks was a rare form of entertainment that surely even Hannibal can appreciate if the tables were turned. 

Will was frozen and confused, he didn't understand the reasoning for the deep tension that hung between them. Factually speaking the millionaire knew that the bonds between the two ran deeper that what was being presented. But he didn't dare to make a query about the two's relationship either. . . 

Will frowned, It never occurred to him that he wasn't the only bed warmer of the bodyguard. Nor did he have a right to even ask or demand loyalty, considering they've only engaged in sexual congress once. 

"Bedelia." Hannibal's voice echoed from behind her, the tone promising an ungentlemanly threat. 

'Ah, there is' her thoughts murmured. This is what she was looking for, a subtle reprimand that commanded more attention and power than what was needed. Humanity and obsession, such a rare glimmer in the eyes of this inhuman entity. 

"Yes, right." Bedelia wore a remorseful mask hiding the interest that the man peaked, as she waved her hands off gesturing a surrender. Hannibal ruffled and hiding his edges; the threatening gaze and sharp tongue was now tied, a total uncustomary reaction. 

"I am Hannibal's supervising agent, if you may. I was the one who intercepted the protection order for you, Mr. Graham." She explained, glancing at Hannibal's direction every now and again. He has moved beside the younger man, only a foot behind. 

Of course, what she said wasn't entirely a lie, she was previously Hannibal's handler. A job that required a reshuffling every few months. But since the assassin wouldn't seem to cooperate with other handlers, she was permanently assigned to the job. 

Hannibal would manipulate his handlers well enough to be putty in his hands. A play thing. Resulting in three out of his five handlers in intensive care, and one being arrested by the Russian government for conspiracy against their leader, after an unfortunate incident of flirting with the assassin that was out of line. 

To this day Bedelia wondered how the assassin pulled the evasive stunt in a span of twelve hours after landing in the country. 

Luckily for most of the people involved, Bedelia wasn't half as dumb as her predecessors, nor did she find Hannibal to be an object of her affections. She didn't find any amour in the viability of death and danger like most would. 

All this started eighteen years of a functional working relationship. But that was before Hannibal parted with the organization out of the blue, resulting in the loss of the agency's top mercenary. 

Bedelia never understood Hannibal's reasons of entering such a criminal profession, considering his background. He was an accomplished surgeon, and a renowned psychiatrist before taking on this job for what he deems as an enjoyable pastime. 

At the same time, she was baffled by his reasoning for leaving it. He was good at his job. Always cleverly executed, and neatly packaged. 

His recent kill streak not included in this category. 

It may be a skillful execution, but was package sloppily. If she were still the mercenary's handler, she would have a tremendously insufferable time doing ground control. 

The thoughts of these two different points of introduction is still under scrutiny. The juxtaposition of the attachment and detachment of his presence were both unnerving moves. 

"Please, Will would be fine." The young millionaire waved off the pleasantries, which immediately snapped the woman out of her unexpectedly distractive musings. As the younger man proceeded to settle himself in the leather settee.

They were currently settled in Bedelia and Hannibal's suite, one floor down from Will's penthouse. It was a meager, comparison to the top suite, and yet luxurious enough for its expense. Marble flooring, rococo designs merged with beige victorian wallpaper. It housed one master's bedroom and one guest bedroom, that was only slightly more modest than the other. 

"Alright . . . Will. I've received news that you've been shot under Hannibal's ward. . . " she paused, giving the older man a chance to react, or continue. The silence that ensued enabled her to continue. 

". . . extremely unfortunate. I would understand if you would like to pull back your agreement with his servic—" Bedelia reasoned, looking pointedly at Hannibal. It was stupid of him to introduce her to his little facet of humanity. It gave her the viability to break that little connection that the two men seemingly had. 

It was obviously an unabated attraction, still at its raw youthful state. . . Too demented to be love, too obsessed to be friendship or camaraderie. Imbalanced affection. There was something that was overbearing and lacking. Hannibal took the role of being the personification of overbearing.

"No!" Will cut her off before she finished her statement, already knowing the rest of the succeeding words.

"No?" Bedelia replied a little puzzled and amused by the little out burst.

"No. . . " he said replying less abruptly this time. Feeling a surge of embarrassment bleeding on to the colour of his face.  

"That's not it! It wasn't his fault, it was mine." He continued, looking up at Hannibal from his where he was rooted. 

"You got shot." The matter-a-fact tone of the woman's voice was slick and steady. 

She paused and finally sat down on an adjacent seat from the millionaire. She elegantly crossed her legs, making the edge of her dark grey tweed pencil skirt ride up, extending the length of her already lengthy appendage. 

"An occupational hazard." Will choked out immediately, which earned an amused grin from Hannibal which was out of view from Will's position. Even Bedelia found the statement amusing to a point, it was such a reckless response, that it oozed the lack of alarm from danger. 

Hannibal raised his wrist to peek at the face of his glistening custom Rolex. Before ushering Will back to his room, whilst Bedelia waited for the man to return for a parting discussion of the night. 

She took this time to pour herself a tumbler of amber liquid from the swan decanter that was placed strategically at the side. Not even bothering to put ice, she served the whiskey neat. Taking a sip of the alcoholic beverage, the burn it created simmered down as the taste of oak, ash and honey, a sweet after taste dripped on her palette. 

The sound of the door unlocking made her sit up, and reach for the gun that was snuggly tucked at the band of her skirt. Training had plagued her of this habit, which was useful on more than one occasion.

"I see why you like him. Impulsive and brazen. And yet, from what I heard he's actually quite intelligent." Bedelia breathed out, once again relaxing back to her seat. With a self satisfied look Hannibal entered his room.

"A distracting combination it seems." The woman muttered to herself, downing what was left of her drink.


	22. Chapter 22

'One would die tonight and I would make sure it isn't me'  the woman thought as the woman effortlessly stood from her place. 

The soft sheer white of her blouse flowing effortlessly down to her waist, while her black blazer and slacks remained without crease at her movements. It was a simple ensemble, her personal choice for intimidation and elegance.

"How do you plan on proceeding with him knowing of your existence." The woman's frustration peaked in her voice. She didn't hide her particular distaste of the thorn in her most effective mercenary's side.

Bedelia graced her way to the bar trolly, pouring herself something stronger then her usual love. She poured the stinging branding in a clear round glass, a spherical ice happily placed in the middle.

Already with the start of this conversation she knew she would down the canister without batting an eye. She would be considered an alcoholic at this point if it weren't for technicalities. . . And maybe a hint of denial. 

She took a look out into the vast Italian scenery, so serene, beautiful and . . . Oddly unsettling. It was picturesque. But picturesque sceneries never stay so beautiful wherever she went, it will always end in a Pollock-esque painting with red as the main pigment and varnished by screams. This place . . . Was in no way 'usual' nor was her blood stained reality.

"Quite an unexpectedly compulsive move. So . . . Unlike you." Bedelia stared into the void that was Hannibal Lecter. 

He seemed utterly distant just from the vacancy resonating upon his maroon orbs. It was glazed in ways that was obviously too blended to think or move. He was . . . Addicted of sorts, to things that was unexpectedly human. 

She turned her back at the man and refused to look, seeing his mostly delighted self was infuriating to say the least. She kept her distance as well, preferring to face the bar and choose her next possible victim. The woman opted to finish the canister of brandy. 

"I may have pressed you about his presence, as I found it rather quaint and a reverse of your appeal. But I did not expect his constant presence to be a very vivid distraction." Bedelia lipped at the man, biting in a rather unpleasant comment due to the situation.

It has been a week since Will's introduction to the woman. And in that time frame, it was easily determined that he was broken, in more ways than one. Pointedly overcompensating for his weak state in terms of movement. A careful and undeclared diagnosis created a long prognosis of multiple and possibly aggravating mental disorders, signs of depression, PTSD and even an uncertain kind of dissociative identity disorder. Evidence being his sudden but subtle changed in the identity that suited him at the moment, one being a rugged and yet straight edge empath, contrasting his common sarcastic playboy persona. 

She watched as Hannibal coaxed and played the part of a good guardian. Intriguing as it maybe, she needed Hannibal's full attention at this crucial time. 

"I am not distracted. I just have other things in mind." The man pressed his lips tightly, as tight as his concise answer was. . . The fact was half true in thought. 

He himself knew he was. . . Distracted. It wasn't particularly his fault, it was more of the doing of a certain brunette who is in fact his fancy. The spark of interest is a rarity, if not, an impossibility of the universe. He had no interest in people, the pleasure of the flesh maybe, but never the humanity of the person themselves. . . The feeling was addictively different and inconstant. 

"And that is the very definition of distracted. . . I hope that boy didn't throw away your vocabulary coupled with your sense of danger. " Bedelia scoffed, terrible displeasured. 

"I hope bedding your little dame isn't one of your little mental distractions." Bedelia bit once more, raking in a sting. Yes, the pleasures of the flesh is one of the strongest weapons of the appeal of man kind. 

Devious, dangerous and incomplete, that was utterly breath taking. 

"I—" the man was supposedly going to deny the obvious claims but was abruptly cut off. 

"Save it! This is not the time to pursue discussing your night affairs!" Hannibal bit off the rude interruption by the woman, as in a way she had the right to. She was his handler in this situation, far too valuable to cut off yet. Not missing another beat, she pressed the glass of brandy on her lips, and tilted it slowly. Savoring the warmth and taste that could harm the throat if it weren't for the fact she was an experienced drinker. 

She poured herself another, while she spoke in a cold tone, making sure the man knew her intent. And still the ever cold façade of a man in constant calm remained. Not a crack in his ever so perfect mask. A fact that unnerved her the most. 

He was an ever roaming beast, never caged or trained. He has never been pulled by the tides of emotions. As fond of him as she maybe, he wasn't worth the mistakes he has been making. 

Her orbs still fixed on the crystalline canister, ready to pour her fifth glass tonight. The sobriety of her state oddly still there. The effect of every colour of the spectrum visible and magnificent in the little details from the refection of the light. One of the little joys of living she supposed. But one odd colour stood out from the rest, a dot of red. A familiarly threatening sign.

" if you plan on killing yourself, go ahead. Go get yourself martyred if you want to. . . But remember this Hannibal, you will not drag me down with you!" She muttered, having the blood in her veins pump faster with anger and adrenaline. 

Any moment from now the norms of her being will commence. A shatter, crack, break and thud. It would be infuriating, pompous in fact to assume that, the sequence would indeed take place. But her instincts have never failed her, and so she would resume like nothing was amiss. 

". . . So it seems that 'M' isn't too fond of my decisions." Bedelia halted, swiftly looking back at the staring man.

A million thoughts pace fast in her mind.  None were descriptive enough to convey the anxiety, anger, hate and frustration in to a single word or tone. In her mind, that was the limit of the English language. It was as wide and at the same time limiting. Unusable in expressing a vile enough word for this 'M'. 

But in the end the woman opted to keep her thoughts to herself, it was clear that the man couldn't careless for the situation, if she wasn't an asset, she wouldn't even be here to stand her ground and berate the figure. But that was not the priority at the moment. 

"Yes, that person is . . . Displeased with you at the moment." Bedelia uttered hesitant on what else to say, after her eyes instantly recognised the red dot moving steadily behind Hannibal's head. Her eyes fixated on it, instantly quieting down. But she knew best that he will not die. 'M' refused to kill him, more so harm even a single hair on his head. . . Unfortunately she and the 'dame' on the other hand were disposable. 

"Hannibal, you will die . . . If your . . . 'Affections' are real, you shouldn't have brought him here." Bedelia muttered harshly, as she slowly moved from her spot and pressed herself on the wall, avoiding the possible area for open fire. 

"One of these days a the flying bullet hurdling towards us wouldn't be for you, but for him." She said, already alerting the other with her choice of words.

Bedelia didnt believe in a god. A forgiving god. A saviour. She found all of them A fictitious part of humanity, empty and yet it was hope. Humans created gods to fill their unanswered questions with something . . . Ephemeral and yet improbable. 

Three knocks on the door disturbed her thought process, one would die tonight and surely it wasn't her.


	23. Chapter 23

Hannibal knew without a doubt something was amiss the moment he entered the room. The air seemed to simmer with tension, the little clanks of the decanter and the steady stream of roses and gunpowder plagued the mercenary's sense of olfactory. The aroma of which was was evidently Bedelia's scent. 

The conversation that ensued between the two was . . . Malicious at best, and disastrous at worst. With every subject being his . . . Infatuation.

"One of these days a the flying bullet hurdling towards us wouldn't be for you, but for him." Bedelia uttered unnaturally hard. Her body not-so-subtly pressed to the wall. . . An indication of danger.

The words played into his mind with mirth. Danger will always follow him, it never did leave. But the question of the safety of his . . . Ward, that was another question.

Three knocks emerged from the door, echoing through the room in between the aching tension. Hannibal's thoughts took a pause. Bedelia on the other hand had already procured her gun, and gripped it into position. 

The end of the glock unabashedly pointed it to the french door. On the other hand, Hannibal cautiously strode through the hall, placing a hand on the doorknob. Bedelia followed the red dot that was continuously spotted at the back of Hannibal's head.

"There is a target on your head." The woman said icily, already ready to initiate assault if needed. 

"I am aware." The mercenary said cooly, before opening the door and tackling the person on the other side, down to the ground. Immediately the sound of open fire hailed them to move. Only narrowly missing the two bodies on top of each other.

"Bedelia, I suggest you cover for us." The mercenary pointedly uttered, as she turned to unload her bullets to the direction of the assailant. Internally she knew that it was a futile attempt. Considering the glock couldn't possibly par with an rifle, in a match of distance and speed. 

Hannibal pulled the body below him to the other side of the door frame, blocking anymore potential assaults. 

"I specifically instructed you not to venture off on your own." Hannibal cooly snarked, before assessing the other of any injuries. 

"I was going to invite you to dinner." Will retorted, as the other exhaled in satisfaction. Indicating no external wounds or injuries to be seen. 

"We have a cellphone for that." Hannibal remarked, as he stood up from their crouched position. And offered a hand to the smaller man. 

"I don't even have your number." The millionaire replied, as Bedelia emerged slightly scathed from the encounter. A sharp cut of a passing bullet lacerated the pale skin of her neck, hitting an artery, making it bleed profusely. 

"Boys, this is not the time to argue over communication barriers." The woman snapped, as a cacophony of bangs can still be heard. 

"We better leave before 'M' comes for you herself." Bedelia added, making the mercenary have a dark expression on his face.

Hannibal brought out his phone, and proceeded to use it, not minding the influx of people disturbed by the noise and came to see the source of the ruckus. A poor bellboy was called on to the floor to see the dilemma. 

He saw the three loitering around. Will idling around, Hannibal on his phone seemingly in conversation and Bedelia clutching her neck for pressure, to stop the bleeding of her cut. They all looked ruffled and worn, but seemingly calm, even though, through the open door he could see a barrage of bullets imbedding on the marble flooring. 

And as an automatic response of any sensible human, the poor bellboy turned and ran as fast as possible. This gave the three time to escape before any authorities arrive to intervene.

"Hannibal! Now is not the time to for a phone call!" The mercenary peeked at the woman, and threw the phone at her direction. Bedelia barely caught it in one hand. As she looked at the contact that was ringing. 

"I think its time to be a little useful Will." He uttered, coaxing him to stand and lead him to add pressure on Bedelia's wound. She flinched at the untrained contact but kept it in, with the possibility of more assailants barging in at any moment. 

Hannibal took the opportunity to dive right into the suite, tactically avoiding the on coming bullets. The little gaps between the areas of assault was enough for the man to slip through, and enter his room just at the far right of the hall. 

Meanwhile, Bedelia was still on the phone, while Will kept his hands on the wound. Losing an ounce of hope, coupled with possible blood loss, due to hitting an artery. 

"Hello?" Finally, a youthful voice gently sounded from the device. Bedelia knew immediately what to say, considering this has happened a handful of times through the years.

"Roman Fell." She simply said, making the Will confused with his lack of context. 

"I will be expecting you in an hour?" The voice replied, visibly female. 

"Make it five, we still have a situation at hand." Bedelia muttered as she huffed for a breath, the pain setting in and dulling all at the same time. 

"I will be expecting the two of —" the voice said, before being abruptly cut off.

"Three, your potential stepfather will be joining us." The snark still in her, to the dismay of Will. It was an poignant nudge at the man's attraction to the other, which was unamusing considering Will wasn't sure of what degree does that attraction he and the mercenary have. 

". . . I have so many questions right now, but I think I better cut this off." The voice said after a subsequent pause. 

"Yes, you should. See you soon." Bedelia agreed, as speaking has become a challenge.

***

Hannibal pulled out his large suitcase from under the bed, and proceeded to unload its contents. Which was the assembly parts of an M24 rifle. 

He immediately put himself up to his well practiced work. And finishing the fast assembly with the clasp of the ammunition.

Feeling its trigger, a surge of calm took hold of him, lowering his heart rate. Thinking of a way to position himself securely in the line of fire. Thinking quickly, he knew that the gap between the loading and unloading of a sniper rifle would be between five rounds. And seeing as the continuous assault, it seems his reputation of being impossible to kill got to the shooter.

Of course common sense dictates that, the shooter would run out of bullets soon enough. Giving him a chance to move behind the couch. 

After a few minutes his time has come, he steadfastly crawled behind the settee. Hannibal judged the angle of where the bullets originated from, an deduced that the shooter would be situated higher than his floor. And with the accuracy of the assailant, it would mean a closer proximity.

The mercenary scanned through the scope of what he deduced was about a 70 degree angle from the next building. And sure enough, a man clad in a black balaclava was reloading his rifle. Waiting between his heartbeat to steady, he pulled the trigger.

Automatically the shots ceased and silence ensued.

After the shooter didn't attack once more, Hannibal picked himself up from his position on the floor and calmly walked back to where his two companions were situated. His hand still gripped the rifle, just in case, even if it only contained four ammunitions left. 

Finally seeing Hannibal's successful attempt at eliminating the danger. Bedelia's body gave out and fell limp on Will's body.

"Lets go." Hannibal uttered while instructing the other to carry the injured, as he shielded them.


	24. Chapter 24

Hannibal backed up on the surface of the brick wall, a glock tightly handled. His other hand held the handle of the case packed his beloved rifle. 

The man looked from side to side, peeking to see if other obstacles and assailants were at bay. Will, on the other hand panted heavily, the adrenaline pumping into him. He supported the unconscious woman's weight, even though the younger man was not fully healed from his previous injuries, and was considerably weak at the moment.

A concerned look flashed through Will's face. She was deathly pale, looking almost ephemeral, with the contrasting colour of her skin and deep red painted lips.

The thick scent of blood blocked every other sense in Will. He didn't notice his heaving breath and shivering form, till Hannibal put a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down." A soft whisper escaped the Assassin's lips, as he came closer to the other man's ear.

Will tried to relax, but the ringing of bullets still filled his mind. And the trauma of his previously injured chest, ached. . . 'Trauma' the word rang in the man's head. 

'Another defect' Will's head supplied. His list of defects continues to grow as the time rolled on. His mind and body slowly breaking down on its own, and yet, still keeping that humanly whole exterior. 

"Will, move." An accented voice conjured him out of his thoughts. A slightly disturbed expression plastered on Hannibal's face, as if dissatisfied about something trivial or mundane. The other man found it odd, considered they were just in the brink of death a few minutes ago. But now is not the time to complain, he had to follow the orders. 

The millionaire dragged the body of their female companion into a cab that Hannibal hailed in. The driver, as expected gave them an odd look. His eyes wondering to the unconscious woman and the seeping blood that flowed from her neck. And her disheveled companions looking quite crazed and alert.  

Sweat dripped from his forehead, lips trembling silently. Danger, an instant instinct felt at this moment of silence. . . The feeling of danger was always the predominant feeling in all living creatures. It was a condensed feeling of fears that could not be expound in a litany of adjectives. Everyone just had a mutual understanding of it, an irk, a tremble. 

The driver's hand slithered to what was supposedly his phone, then a clicking noise called his attention.

"Lo non lo farei se fossi in te." low gravelly voice, dominant and threatening echoed near his ear. 

Will gave a surprised look at the assassin, then immediately remembered his profile. His linguistic prowess really shined at the tense moment.

"Per favore, Signor"

"Dammi il cellulare"

The poor cab driver immediately handed the mobile phone to the assassin, who immediately threw it out of the window without hesitation. Hannibal placed the gun next to the Driver's head, tapping its side intimidatingly.

"Go. Chiamare la polizia, o qualcuno . . . "

"Ti troverò"

"Sì Signore! Sì"

The Driver speedily drove off, following Hannibal's every instruction meticulously, whilst Hannibal remained neutral and calm, tucking the glock under his coat. 

"Fermare."

The vehicle halted immediately with a screech. The friction of the tires fighting off the smoothness of the paved streets. 

Hannibal fished out a few hundred euros and threw it back in the cab, as Will and Bedelia first exited the Car. 

"Go." He said when he stepped out of the vehicle. The cab sped off not turning back, neither wanting to stay nor wanting to be a part of whatever illegal activities his passengers were up to. 

"Are you sure the driver won't speak about this?"

"There is nothing more entertaining than a chase, with a prey feeling that the have put run the danger."

Will felt the urge to roll his eyes at the pretentious statement. A way to avert any sort of coherent answer to the inconceivable. 

"Where are we?" 

"It is better if you don't know." Yet another one of Hannibal's continuously frustrating mysteries.

They approached a classic renaissance looking building. The large pillars of the apartment looking vastly over Florence.

Hannibal apprached the steps without hesitation, and tapped the golden snake crest that looked like it was slowly unraveling itself for an attack. It was aesthetically pleasing, and yet unwarranted with its ostentatious look. 

"Roman Fell." He whispered, as he heard a knock back in reply, from the other side of the door. 

"Welcome." A girl no more than eighteen stepped aside to let them in. She wore a pair of distressed jeans and a simple cotton blouse that hung nicely on her slender figure. 

Will walked inside, immediately laying Bedelia's body on the settee that was set up in the foyer. Whilst Hannibal immediately disappeared into another room, only to come back with folded sleeves and wet hands. He picked up a pair of surgical gloves, which we was evidently starting to fit in his left hand. 

"Abigail, the ki-"

"On the table, the room is already prepared." The girl said, pointing to a intermediate level medical set laid out on the table. All were carefully splayed out on a clean iron tray. 

"Abigail please be a darling and assist my guest to a room to rest." With a nod, Abigail  assisted Will out of the room as Hannibal started to do his work. 

"Of course Father."

Will took a peek at what was being done to his female companion, and only had the view of Hannibal's back, as he reached for a silver scalpel and bent down for what he assumes in an incision. 

"You are different from what I imagined you to be." She said drawing out Will from his thoughts, eerily similar to the assassin's way of communicating. 

"Bedelia has talked about you quite a lot." The girl said politely, she smiled widely revealing her youthful persona. 

"Bedelia? Why would Bedelia be talking about me? I have gotten the impression that she my guts."

"Bedelia finds you interesting . . . It must be because father is quite attracted to you. . . Which is rare."

"Rare?"

"It never really happens." She said casually, finally dropping the eloquent pretenses.

"Your Hannibal's Daughter? Whats that like?" Will uttered trying to be casual. 

"More interesting than you think."

"Enlighten me."

". . . That's a secret." She said half heartedly, lips pressed in silence. 

"Another secret." Will whispered to himself. . . He doesn't understand the secrecy that plagued this family. 

"My father is . . . Unique."

"I see that." The man replied passively, already confused by the many layers that covered the man called Hannibal Lecter.

"There would be a time when you'll fear him." Abigail said to herself, as she led the man to a guest bedroom, where she left him after a careful goodbye.


	25. Chapter 25

"Hannibal."  A familiarly controlled voice called.

"Good evening." The other greeted, as his concentration was still on the pile of documents before him. 

"What exactly is your plan?" The female voice uttered, as she walked in the study. Hands on her hips, as the nice flow of silk moved with her body. The borrowed shit she wore was white and expectedly expensive. The over size made her look smaller, vulnerable, but her face was sullen and intelligent. White bandages wrapped around her thin neck, with browning specks of blood marring its cleanliness.

"I'm going after Tobias Budge."the matter of fact tone, shaded all other possible pleads tries to be added. 

"And how exactly?" She asked curiously, as she sauntered to an upholstered seat to rest her still exhausted body. 

Her recover is slower than expected, she was already nearing an age where she shouldn't be in the line of fire. . . 'But all ages should never be in such a position', She thought carefully.

". . . A gift of a friend shall be returned in equal." Another one of the assassin's cryptic statements plagued the conversation. Bedelia hated that aspect especially when Hannibal was still under her care. 

"Pazzi contacted Interpol of your arrival. . . Or atleast about a man he suspects is you. You didn't really think this through have you?"

"Having all your enemies condensed in one place, this would be a massacre." She added, insulting the other while at it. 

"You sent me to find this Tobias."

"He has your information. You help me, I help you, that is the essence of this relationship!" An exasperated sigh slipped the woman's lips.  

"Then, if you want to continue this symbiotic relationship, I need a few things, I believe you can provide." Hannibal continued to look at the portfolio before him. A dark skinned man looked back at him, eyes hollow, expression bordering on arrogant and gait tensed. 

"What do you need?" She disturbed his thoughts, and finally looked the woman in the eyes. 

"A safe house for Will and Abigail—" 

"Your being too attached." She commented, but agreed that this was the safest option for what she deemed as 'civilians'.

"—A new identity for me, and the whereabouts of this 'Tobias' character."

"Done."

"You'll get what you need by tomorrow. But how exactly do you plan on driving your little robin away?" She said pertaining yo a certain curly haired millionaire.

"Abigail would be of service to aid in that specific aspect." The man answered passively, as he shut the dossier close, already reviewing all he needed.

"Is the little girl going to scare her stepmother away? Such a Grimm Brothersesque move." Bedelia muttered poking a little fun at the prospect.

"You'll have to see, but all ends meet at one point." 

"It's your call. You'll have what you need in the morning, I need some sleep, I suggest you do the same." 

"Good night Bedelia."

"Good night Hannibal."

The woman walked away, feeling curious at the out come of this . . . Plan.

***

Papers scattered around the man as he bent to darken his strokes. The pencil moving smoothly through the paper, with only the sound of lead meeting friction echoing through the enclosure. 

"Hannibal what are we?"A voice appeared, sounding like a petulant child with how the statement was constructed. 

"What do you mean?" The older man looked up, looking quite unamused by the disturbance. 

"Abigail told me you like me." 

" 'Like' is a childish term to determinate what is a childish feeling. A skewed fact." Hannibal uttered once again, looking quite unperturbed by the younger man's sudden appearance.

"Why would she lie to me?" The young man uttered, looking for a challenge.

He finally stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He stepped in front of the desk, placing his palm on the image being created. Hannibal looked up, evidently annoyed at the gesture, and pulled the hand away, smearing the particles of the let to its direction. 

Hannibal releases the hand, and stood up to face the younger man eye to eye. 

"Abigail believes in many things that are nothing but a fictitious understanding of human nature." The assassin said in a blasé attitude, brushing off what ever was being discussed.

"Why are you avoiding confrontation? Why can't you just answer me?!" 

"Answer what Will? There is no question to be answered. " the assassin uttered calmly, looking without distress of a crack in his façade of confidence. 

"Lets stop playing games Hannibal!"

"We aren't playing a Game, Will. I do not understand your frustrations."'

"This— I don't know what this is." Will gestured from Hannibal to himself, face distorting in an unsatisfied manner. 

"I protect you, as the contract states. A professional relationship." 

"I don't understand you! You act as though you —you— ache for me, but your avoiding me at every possible turn." Will slammed his hands on the desk, shaking. 

"You keep on hiding and hiding, I don't even know who you really are!" 

"That is the point Will, you were never supposed to know who I am."

"But I want to." 

"Wanting does not elicit a positive return or advancement. It is a gamble, a gamble in which you lost." 

"I don't understand why you even saved me."

"Its my duty to do so."

"Is that all this is? A duty?!"

"Yes." 

Will frustratedly gripped the other's shirt pulling him across the table in between them. The younger man pressed his lips on Hannibal's, his hand on the assassin's white shirt, crumpling it with his grip. Hannibal didn't respond, making it known he had no intention to. 

After an extended moment of waiting for the assassin to reciprocate, Will let go. It was a futile effort. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Why can't you . . . Ache for me?" Will said with a pained look, before walking out.

"I do."


	26. Chapter 26

"Out of all the developments and scenarios I expected this is the most . . . Surprising. You actually listened to my advice." Another voice appeared from the open door, a familiar woman stalked in, looking as radiant and devious as ever.

"Everything you asked for is in there." She uttered, handing the man with a manila envelope.

"Thank you Bedelia."

Hannibal took it gratefully, he inspected it's contents with precision. A passport, work visa, ID and a sheet of paper with an in-scripted location. The man immediately memorized it and burned the sheet with the lighter that was tucked in his breast pocket.

Bedelia examined the golden trinket. Gold, with an engraving of a snake against a gothic vector of arching templates. Below was a familiar name with a elaborate font and an additional foreign word she didn't intend to understand the meaning of.

'Lecter— Dvaras'

"I hope I've humored you with the name. It suits you." The woman uttered, as Hannibal gave a low chuckle.

'Roman Alexis L. Fell'

"Yes, you have."

"I find that you are really fond of that name."

"Histories intertwine and repeat like a cruel jest." The assassin replied, tucking the passport in his breast pocket with the lighter.

"So when are you leaving 'doctor Fell?' " Bedelia jest, in a light hearted attempt at pleasantries, but the intent was still there.

"Tonight, I am leaving everything to you Bedelia." 

"Very well, please come back to pick your family up from day care." Bedelia uttered, turning to leave, when she stopped, remembering the other important matter at hand.

"One more thing Hannibal, your . . . 'Daughter' is becoming more and more aware of what your lacking." She uttered, as she shut the door with a loud click and locked it immediately.

"You don't trust my daughter?"

"All I am saying is that . . . blood is a relative matter."

"She is as terrifying as her mother." Bedelia commented, as she took a seat at the upholstered chair positioned in front of the desk. She felt the fatigue of blood loss, but had no moment to rest at the pressing matter at hand.

"That is agreed upon." Hannibal uttered lowly, as he took his seat back across from the woman.

"She is being complacent when your around, but know that she is . . . Manipulative." The woman uttered, already sensing something was a miss.

Hannibal also felt the off sense of the room, but put on the façade of relaxation and continued his inspection. The assassin then stood up, and filed through a select array of clothing that was arranged in the closet of the study. It was a collection of relatively classic style of suits, ranging in pattern, colour and design. He immediately saw an old favourite. A mustard checkered three piece with a white dress shirt and a midnight blue tie partnering it. Its been a while since he dressed in full flamboyancy. After all, both his hobbies and current employment require a sense of . . . Elusiveness that can only be brought by a black set of suits.

"She will be a problem soon enough." Bedelia continued to mutter, as the other picked the suit and started to take the clothes off of its perch. 

"She found the letters, and will soon enough be looking for answers just like any child would." She added, as the feeling of wanting a drink, specifically the strong variety is calling like a siren.

Still refusing to be called an alcoholic, even though she full knew she has turned into one.

"I know what your thinking . . . And it wouldn't be wise to let them meet."

"But they would eventually, as I would soon meet her as well." Hannibal uttered, halting for a moment to look at Bedelia.

"We'll finally meet the girl you left in Lithuania." The woman said with a tinge of interest and ribbing.

"I didn't leave her, be careful with the choice of your words." A hint of anger fell though the assassin's voice, even though it remained monotonous and controlled.

"How ever you put it, thats how it really is, isn't it?"

***

Unbeknownst to the two, Abigail was approaching the door when Bedelia locked the door, curious about the situation at hand. And having her own questions still unanswered. She eavesdropped as a flash of memory filled her mind.

The old and worn pieces of papers, some were torn, and barely comprehensive. Some were long and had burn edges, others were just ripped pieces of papers with grim powdering it. But each one had a carefully looped cursive reminiscent of her fathers, but vastly different with the use of red ink, and slanted punctuations.

'Dear Hannibal,

I am in Belarus, please, return for me. I am lost, I don't know where I am—'

The letter was ripped, and didn't mention the sender.

'Dear Hannibal,

Are you even receiving my letters? Or is Pietro lying to me as you did?'

The next was vague, and threatening.

'I will kill you.

Love, M—'

The little paper was ripped with only a single letter representing the sender. But that was not the most disturbing one, it was the simple message of . . .

'Im pregnant.'


	27. Chapter 27

"Doctor Fell, nice to meet you." A smooth voice called out as the assassin approached the well-dressed man.

A three piece charcoal suit, with a grey well pressed dress shirt and no tie. The man was tan, with a glow of youth and wonder, a smug air waft around him. His brown, slightly slant deep orbs compliment the slicked back hair. In the assassin's opinion he looked like a child trying to intimidate his guardians into handing him sweets. It was comical in a way.

"Likewise, Mister?" Hannibal said, reaching the out stretched hand to shake. The hand lingered for a moment, as if testing the waters.

"Salvator, Emilio Elijah Salvator. I am in charge of the renaissance exhibit in the gallery. . . I will be showing you around for the time being." The other said with undoubtable confidence. He smiled in such a forced manner that the creases of the smile faltered after a while, but feeling the mutual resentment, opted to appreciate the old Italian building.

The gallery was large and particularly aged. The stone foundations were visible and cracks edged and pieces of stone fell to the floor. Metal beams were bonded together, plastic cover was scattered on the floor. It was evident that renovations were at work, and rightly so. The weakening foundations posed a threat to all the civilians in it.

"You were not what I expected when they said a foreign specialist will be in charge of the medieval exhibit." The other man uttered, eyeing the unsurprisingly pristine look of the assassin.

High cheek bones, a rare maroon shade of eyes, fair and nicely built. So, unlike many of his colleagues, who, while well versed academics were old and frail. In all his years of working in this field, the curator was always the youngest in his team. To have someone close to his age was . . . Intimidating. He didn't know if he was appalled or intrigued by his new colleague, a new field yet, to be tested.

"Many people do say I . . . Am quite surprising." Hannibal hid his smirk behind a soft gracious smile, which made his features brighten. The assassin's mind went to remember the soft curve of a certain millionaire's back, and deep-set tired eyes that seemed to charm him even in its most prominent moments. On the other hand, the man's enigmatic charm affecting the hostile man beside him.

"Very." The Italian stated, accent clear, but the tone slightly doubtful and surprised at his own admission.

Preferring not to linger at the newly sparked interest, the curator immediately toured the man on his soon to be work place. Pointing out certain items under his specialty and giving a brief description of each with a passive tone.

". . . and here are the historian's offices." The Italian said as the two entered the lounge, where the man sauntered to a similarly built man wearing tweed. His back turned at Elijah's tap to reveal a fairly familiar looking man to the assassin.

His hair was cropped in a short cut, dark skin and dark eyes seemingly challenging. His calloused hands littered with angled cuts that's seemed to be variegated. Hannibal knew this man, staring and memorizing every little bit of the content of his undoubtedly lengthy file.

"This is professor Alexander Keller." The curator introduced, mediating the conversation whilst being oblivious to the growing tension between the two pseudo-scholars.

"Nice to finally meet you . . . Doctor Fell. I have heard a lot about your wonderful work in the home country and around Europe." A wicked smile was placed on the American sounding man's lips, which Hannibal politely returned.

The copycat killer finally met his master.

***

"Where is he?" Will banged at every nook and cranny available in the objectively large vicinity.

Bedelia rolled her eyes at . . . What can only be politely described as 'out-of-the-box' thinking of the Millionaire, the other words being 'stupid' and 'unreasonable'. It was fairly obvious what the young man was looking for isn't even in their location. The blonde continued to sip her wine, paying no mind to the question irately screamed at her from one of the inner rooms.

"Bedelia, answer me!" Like the catatonic petulant child, he seemed to be possessed with, Will stomps in front of the woman and made a fit.

"What do you mean, Will?" Bedelia uttered pleasantly, seemingly unperturbed by the actions and tone of the Millionaire.

"Bedelia, I have no time for this." Frustratedly, Will marched out the door with coat in hand, already ready for departure.

This caught the woman's attention.

"Stop!"

The young man halted, but his hand was already on the knob, and the door was wedged open. The deceptively warm Italian breeze silently slipped in.

"Wherever you are going, I am deathly sure he isn't there." She uttered, with a hard tone.

"What do you mean, Bedelia?" He said, deceptively calm yet the snark of throwing the woman's own words at her direction was blatantly obvious.

"He is handling a few things concerning his less than legal employment." She said, already standing up to shut the front door, which she successfully did with a full-bodied push.

The man's mind was going wild with fear. He was fine alone, he had always been alone, and yet, after the trauma he experienced, the assassin was his anchor. His hold on reality. Because in his mind, any other fictitious reality he entered always had a singular difference from the rest, and it always revolved around the assassin's demise.

Bedelia took in the image of the man, perfectly still, dark circles around the eyes, all packaged in a messy set of clothes. In her true opinion he looked pitiful, woeful and utterly drowning in obsession.

"I am giving you a choice. Go home, to your actual home, you don't know what hell will fall on you if you stay by his side for too long."

"I—"

"Please. Don't. I know what you're going to say. How secure are your . . . Affections with him? How deeply does it run? I'm not even sure you reciprocate its intensity."

"Are you telling me I don't love him?!"

"The word affection varies in nature, via context." Bedelia uttered passively, with a slight grit due to the building exasperation.

"I don't even think you understand that word properly to differentiate the feelings that you two have for each other. . . I would a kin your 'feelings' closer to obsession than anything."

"Fuck you to hell, Bedelia." Will muttered unusually calm, and ran out trying to go after the man that was long gone.

The woman shut her eyes and exhaled. Trying to mask the feeling of frustration with a sigh. She was a respected handler with years of experience with assassins and mercenaries, and yet handling a love sick petulant depressive millionaire was more than she could handle. Actual children were easier to handle.

On the other hand, a thought came to mind, sociopath and a psychopath obsessed is such an interesting case to study. Her oldest profession always was the pinnacle of her career life.

Amidst the in-depth thoughts that lingered, another presence made itself known.

"What do you want Abigail?" the woman snapped.

"Have questions." Abigail said with purpose. The older woman observed the youth, hands holding pieces of aged paper.

"And?"

"Obviously I want them answered."

"Yes, interestingly enough human nature dictates us to be . . . Obsessed with forbidden knowledge."

"How long have you known Da-Hannibal?"

"For longer than your very existence. . . even before the consummation prior to knowing about your gestation."


End file.
